Dancing Under Red Skies
by anne-not-neville
Summary: Three years after the tragic death of her father strange things are happening in Maggie Bowen's home town. In a last ditch effort to keep Maggie safe, her and her mom move to the La Push reservation. Enter Paul Lahote. Playboy extraordinaire. Inevitably chaos ensues. Paul x Oc
1. the wolf that waited at the edge

**A/N: WOw, I read a spicy alpha wolf story and here I am. Making the rounds, feeding my twilight obsession. This is the first story I've ever made like a legitimate chapter outline that spans for multiple pages, so finger's crossed we keep at it. **

**All characters, save for my oc's, belong to Stephanie Meyer. **

**This doesn't really follow canon, it's more my own guilty pleasure. So some thing's will be changed to make sense in my story. **

**This is not edited by anybody but me so all mistakes are mine. Also I need some good wolf-pack story recommendations. **

**Also, be prepared for a lot of Margaret Atwood quotes. And now we are aboard the pain train, with a one way ticket to angstville.**

**the wolf that waited at the edge**

_"I want everything back, the way it was. but there is no point to it, this wanting"_

Margaret Atwood

In life there are these moments. These crystal clear moments where you knew without a doubt that nothing would ever be the same again. And all of that happiness you had once felt so intensely would be eclipsed by this tight darkness that wove itself around you, that pushed against you until you thought you might suffocate from the pressure. And there it would stay, a perpetual reminder of what you may never have again.

_This _was one of these moments.

When you stand solemnly, head bowed, maybe in prayer, as a body is lowered into the ground. And you only vaguely register the hysterical sobbing of the people that loved him. That loved him the same way you did, maybe even more.

And you'll grip your mother's hand tightly, perhaps, to reassure her because between the screaming and the tears she's definitely not breathing right, but maybe it's to make sure you can still feel things. Just to make sure that you're still rooted so irrevocably to this Earth nothing can steal you away. Not even this grief.

I hate crying in front of people, but today, I cry, and I cry, and I cry. I let the tears slide down my cheeks and I don't care who sees it. Because I will never see my dad again.

While my tears are silent, save for the sporadic breathy hiccups that force its way out of my throat, my mother's is the opposite. Nothing about her suffering is silent. She clutches at her throat like she can't breathe. She bends over lower with each wail like she can't believe the coffin is being lowered into the ground without her.

My mother wraps her arms around herself and grips the bare flesh of her forearms so tightly the little half moon crescent's left behind bleed. My aunt Emily's hands hover precariously above her shoulders.

And as I watch my mother come undone I know I will never forget this moment.

* * *

By the time my mother composes herself everyone is gone, save for my aunt, and her fiance. Emily clasps my mother's hands in her own, and Sam stands protectively behind her. Not for the first time I wonder how they ended up together, he's so much larger than her, and his face seemed forever stretched into a scowl.

I could only hear bits and pieces of their conversation.

"Come home… Eva, you know you aren't safe anymore…" Emily's usually pleasant voice came out in a harsh whisper. Her large doll-like eyes glistened with unshed tears. She was still so beautiful despite the large crooked scar that traveled from temple to chin.

Sam's voice came out in a low grumble, too quiet for me to hear, at any rate. My mother's head bobbed along to whatever they were saying lethargically. I knew what they were talking about had to be important, and that I should want to know more about it but I couldn't bring myself to care.

Instead I circled the freshly churned dirt.

Golden leaves crunched beneath my feet noisily. Parts of the soil were moist and while I was walking primarily on solid ground I couldn't fight the feeling that I was sinking.

The wind picked up and sent a swirl of red brown leaves spiraling. In the distance the horizon was an unbroken line of trees that twisted and reached unanimously for the sky. Save for a large dark mass of fur.

At first I thought it was a bear, and my heart dropped in the pit of my stomach. But on further examination it wasn't a bear at all.

It was a wolf.

However, It did very little to calm the incessant beating of my heart. My instinct was to run at first, to gather up my broken mother and finally go home, but the wolf wasn't moving. He sat there patiently, like maybe he was waiting for something.

I inched closer until I didn't have to squint to make out the details, the fur on his chest was a light brown that traveled down his back into a brown so dark it could have been black. His eyes were a burnt orange, unlike anything I'd ever seen before. Its large head tilted to the side, akin to that of a dog. His ears twitched and large rounded eyes met mine.

_Come closer_, they begged. _Come see what I'm hiding. _

Without thinking I took a step, and then another. Forever inching closer to the edge. _You're going the wrong way_, my brain pleaded, _turn around, turn around, turn around. _

"Maggie!"

Like that the spell was broken, I whipped around so quickly it hurt my neck. Sam was glaring in my direction, at me or behind me, I didn't know. Emily watched cautiously; her face unreadable. Tears still fell freely down my mother's cheeks, but she was using her stern, I-am-your-mother voice.

"Don't go wandering off, you know better than that." Her words startled me, or maybe not her words but the annoyed undertone that punctuated the silence.

"I-I'm sorry… but…" the words were slow and apologetic, I pointed half-heartedly to the expanse of trees that stretched across the skyline in front of me. _There's a wolf. _I want to say, _and I don't know why but I think he wants me to get closer. _My mother's brows furrow together in confusion, and Sam raises a skeptical eyebrow as if to challenge my sanity.

When I look again the wolf is gone, trees spill across the horizon in uninterrupted waves of mossy green. Maybe grief was making me crazy.

* * *

When we get home that night nobody does much talking. Save for Emily's occasional idle chatter, Sam grunts out a response, but my mother is too heart sick to do even that, instead she picks at her food and stares blankly ahead.

"I think I'm going to head up to bed." My voice is a little hoarse from misuse, and I have to clear my throat to make the words come out clearly. Normally, I wouldn't be allowed to excuse myself, and I wait for my mother to say something, to call me back to the table. But she doesn't even flinch. I carried my uneaten plate of food to the kitchen, it was a shame I wasn't hungrier, Emily really was an amazing cook.

"Oh, sleep good Maggie." Emily gave me a sympathetic smile as I rounded the corner back into the dining room, my mother nodded numbly along with her. I couldn't blame her. I had never seen two people more in love than my mother and father. I lost a dad, but she lost something so much more.

My room was a mess, usually I keep it very clean, but the past few weeks had been a frenzy of crying and screaming and breaking things. As a result, my favorite belongings lay strewn across the floorboards. My latest sketchbook lay motionless face down underneath a few of my old stuffed animals and t-shirts.

I shrug off the black dress I'd been wearing previously and change into pajamas, I don't bother picking it up. I leave it on the floor and I let it rot. Hot tears prick at the back of my eyes but I force them down. I don't look at that dress, the dress that meant my dad was gone for good now.

I curl up on my bed and wrap the covers around myself, and for the first time since I heard the news I pick up my sketchbook and I draw. I've been drawing for what feels like forever. Since I could hold a pencil I was doodling. My father always doodled along with me. My fondest memories are of us painting together.. He bought me every single sketchbook I've ever owned.

_"Don't know where you get that talent from girlie," He'd say, but he'd pick up his brush and he'd try anyways. His colors would be muddy and he liked to flick paint on me but every time without fail he'd set his canvas up to mine and asked what we were painting. "I sure as hell can't draw, and don't ever tell her I said this but neither can your mother. We're the same in that way."_

_"And how are we the same, Daddy?" I would ask, and even then I wanted so desperately to have something in common with him._

_"Well, Maggie," He'd humm softly and glob a disgusting brown on his pure white canvas, he'd scratch his cheek and his lips would quirk up. His eyes crinkled at the edge and he'd make his voice soft for me, "we're cave dwellers you and I." _

I didn't realize I was crying until the tear stained paper ripped. I pressed the eraser into the paper _hard_. And for a moment I have an insane urge to rip every single piece of paper out of my sketchbook. But this is the last thing my dad ever gave me; did I really want to destroy it?

_Yes, _a part of me screamed. A part of me wanted to split the book in two, I wanted to feel the resistance of something held together by more than glue break beneath my fingertips.

Instead I snap the book shut and toss it to the floor, out of sight, out of mind, right? I don't want to do something I'm going to regret.

I flick the bedroom light off and I put on my headphones, I press play and I turn it up to full volume. I let the music scream at me, at first it hurts my ears but slowly I become desensitized to it. The vibrations travel down my spine in ripples of magnetic shock waves. I let myself get lost in the music, in the loud screaming, in the rasp of the lead singer's voice. And for a moment I can _almost _pretend everything's okay.

I'm at the cemetery again, it takes a long time to register that maybe I shouldn't be here. It's dark out now and the tombstones are bathed in shadow and moonlight, birds dance across the stone. A devastating tango.

I search for my father's grave; the stones stretch upwards for miles. A sense of urgency abruptly fills my bones, _away, get away, _my brain screams. I take a step forward, the mud gripping my shoes makes it hard for me to move. It's like wadding through water, but I force myself to take the next step. And then another.

I don't know how many steps I take until I finally crest the hill, but I make it to the top, sobbing and breathing and muddy but at the top all the same. And there at the end of all things was the dense wood. Shrouded in darkness, the watery moon shone directly on a dark mass of fur. A spotlight made of bone and blood.

The wolf took a tentative step forward, my heart hammered dangerously in my chest. I could feel every angry beat. The wolf took another step, and then another. Gradually his soft padding turned into a break-neck run.

I tried to take a step backwards, but the mud was working and winding itself up my exposed legs pulling my down. Angry music screamed in the background.

_This is chaos. _

Still the wolf angrily charges forward, not deterred by the music or the sinking even though the mud tries to take him too. He's so close now I can see every little detail I'd missed earlier.

Finally, he stops in front of me. Nose to nose we stand. He's so much bigger than I thought he'd be, and even if I wasn't sinking, he'd still tower over me. His wet nose presses against my cheek.

And it's enough. It calms the thump, thump, thump of my heart.

I bolt upright, the headphones are slightly askew and my head hurts from crying. I push them down until they rest around my neck and I press a firm hand to my chest. _Be still, _I pleaded. Each inhale is sharp, and it takes a long time for me to calm down.

My free hand twitches at my side, asks, no begs for me to draw the wolf. To try and capture him, even if it's only a small part of him. It doesn't have to be whole, nothing's ever whole at first.

My hand twitches again, and again until it's almost painful. I don't bother turning on the light, I rummage hap hazardously for my sketchbook, but for some reason I can't find a pen. I have more pens than I know what to do with.

I rummage through drawer after drawer slamming each one closed when I can't find what I'm so desperately looking for. I slam my fist against my desk in unfiltered anger and let out a cry.

Slowly, so slowly, a single pen rolls across the flat mahogany surface of my desk and I cry even harder in relief.

I snatch the pen up, and I clutch it to my chest tightly. My fingers tips turn white from the pressure, but I have to know it's still here, that it won't disappear at any moment. I plop on my bed and I get to sketching, they're scratchy outlines at first. But that's what every drawing starts off as. A line.

Slowly I chisel away at the details, I get it wrong multiple times. The leg is a little too large, the head's too small. I keep chipping away though, I think of my father's unfailing determination. Slowly it becomes the wolf that had waited patiently at the edge. For what, I would probably never know.


	2. the parting glass

**A/N: Ooooh second chapter (insert Draco Malfoy finger wiggle)**

**I don't own any of these characters although I lowkey wish I did. Minus my OC's of course. Anywhooza the pain train has departed, we're no longer in angstville and we're headed straight to fluffville with a few pit stops for exposition.**

**(I might have maybe taken that analogy a little too far.)**

**Also this is an author desperate for reviews and feedback, it keeps my grubby little fingers typing.**

**the parting glass**

"_you can never get away from where you've been."_

Margaret Atwood

"I think that's all of it." My mother murmured from beside me, she takes in the empty foyer of our house. Her black hair is twisted and pinned to the back of her head by a plastic clip. My mother's hair, however, is a force to be reckoned with, a few defiant loose strands dangle and kiss the nape of her neck. "So many memories."

I can tell she's thinking about my father now, a sad pang echoes around in my ribcage. It goes silent when nothing calls back to it. My mother shifts her weight and squeezes the large cardboard box a little tighter. Because even though it's been three years she's still barely holding on.

"We'll make more, mom." I promise, I want to reach out and hold her hand but she's still desperately clutching the moving box to her chest. Instead the ends of her lips quiver in an _almost _smile, and for the time being it's enough.

With a final sigh my mother gathers up her sadness, "I'm going to take this out to the truck, I'll be waiting whenever you're ready."

I watch her leave, the screen door bounces shut and for a moment I can't tear my gaze from it. The creaking fills the entire house, a farewell song meant only for my ears. I've already said my goodbyes to the house, which made me feel silly and small until my mother reassured me that it shouldn't.

"_It's hard to say goodbye to things we've known our entire life." She whispered softly; she'd cradled me in her arms like she did when I was a child. She stroked my forehead lovingly as I cried. "Don't be afraid to miss the things that matter." _

"_But it's a house!" I had blubbered and she'd laughed at that. It was a short burst, but a real one and even though I was in anguish over feeling like a child that had made me feel good. _

I decided to take one last look at my old bedroom, I had inhabited it for as long as I can remember. It had once been brimming and overflowing with my things, it had been my space and I occupied it well.

I find the marks my father had penciled into the wall when I was younger, to signify that I was growing. To prove that I had been little once. I run my fingers along the groves, and I feel sad knowing that someday it'll be covered up.

I scan the room until I find what I'm looking for, in the corner where dulled floral wallpaper meets, the scratchy outline of a wolf is visible, etched into the wall a few centimeters above the alabaster white trim. It would be nearly impossible to find if you didn't know you were looking for it.

I've dreamt of the wolf ever since my father died, and like clockwork I'd wake up every night with my fingers twitching. _Burning_. Begging me to offer them relief, the furnace only cooled when I'd churned out a few jumbled drawings.

It had been really bad one night, which led to my messy graffitied wolf. I covered it up with my dresser in fear my mother would see it. I didn't want her to chastise me for drawing on the walls, I shouldn't have bothered though. She's never noticed things like that.

The sunlight filtering in through the curtain-less windows warms the room and I know it's time to say goodbye for real now. My mother's waiting for me in the car, and for all of the things I am leaving behind there are about a million more I'll be saying hello to when we get to Washington.

My parents lived there when they were younger, but my mother had wanted to leave, and my father was hopelessly in love with her. So, we came to Minnesota. I think I visited their home a few times when I was young, but I hardly remember it. If Emily ever wanted to see my mom it was her that came to us.

So, naturally I was really surprised when my mother had announced we were moving to Washington during dinner one night.

"_I have something to tell you." My mother grimaced, like it pained her to speak. She set her fork down and paused for a moment, most likely to gather her thoughts. "I'm sure you've heard on the radio, but the bear attacks are getting bad again." I nodded along dumbly, a little unsure as to where this was going._

"_With your father gone I don't feel so comfortable here, anymore." I cringed at the mention of my dad, her voice broke a little. Years of suffering later and she could still burst into hysterics at the thought of him. I pushed my food around my plate in an attempt to keep the tears at bay. "which is why I think we should move."_

"_Move? Where?" My hand stilled, I had so many questions._

"_Emily's been trying to convince me since – well, for years now, she seems to think we'll be safer back home." She mumbled that last part tripping over the word home. I could tell it hurt her to say this. "I think we should move to Washington."_

My mother had stated it with a bit of uncertainty, but her mind had already been made up, she was immovable on the subject. Not that I pushed very hard, for as much as I loved Minnesota, and this was my home I couldn't help but think a change of scenery would do us both some good.

And so here we were.

She sat in a truck with all of our belongings and I stood in the ghost of a room, both of us in different spaces, but hearts breaking all the same.

I need to leave; I've been standing here for too long. Yet, I find myself hesitating in the doorway. _This'll be good for us. This'll be good for us. This'll be good for us._

With my mind made up I head to the front door; I can't bring myself to look at the empty walls or I know I'll only want to stay longer. I'll want to keep looking at our deserted museum of a house. But I keep walking and it's the bravest thing I've done in a long time.

I find my mother waiting patiently in the truck, she's got her knees up on the steering wheel and a colorful book of crossword puzzles rests in her lap. She's hard at work.

I pull open the door to the truck and climb in, it takes a bit of effort since I am not used to it. Mom figured it made more sense to drive the U-Haul to Washington ourselves. Emily came up to help last week and drove our car down to Washington when she left. Everything was squared away. The only thing left to do was get there.

"How are you holding up, Maggie?" My mother's quiet voice penetrates the silence as she pulls the seatbelt over her chest and clicks it into place. She trains her dark eyes on me and gives me a sad smile.

"It was hard to say goodbye, but this'll be good for us." I assure her strapping myself into the car. She nods in understanding, it's not the first time I've told her this. It's become something of a mantra since she declared we were moving.

"Long drive ahead of us, what shall we listen to?"

"Hmm, whatever you want." I pretend to contemplate it for a moment, but in reality I could care less what we listen to. Our taste in music differed greatly, but I could tune it out if it was too bad.

"Alrighty." She mumbles and presses play on the radio. As she pulls out of the driveway I couldn't fight the feeling that everything was changing. _This'll be good for us._

* * *

It's late when we get to the La Push reservation, we'd already planned on spending the night at Emily's and doing the brunt of our moving tomorrow morning when Sam's friends could help. While I was grateful for the aide his friends promised, I couldn't deny I felt a little apprehensive. Sam was always so serious, his eyebrows constantly fixated in a deep furrow. Like immovable stone, when he smiled it was at Emily. If all of his friends were like that, tomorrow would be incredibly awkward.

It doesn't take mom long to find Emily's house, I knew she lived on the reservation when she was younger, but I was surprised at how well her memory still served her. Even though it was well past midnight, Emily sat on the porch waiting for us. I couldn't help but smile at that. If ever anyone could be the embodiment of good things, it was Emily.

Mom switches the ignition off and slips out of the truck effortlessly, Emily tackles her in a hug. A sister's greeting. I feel my heart swell at this, I knew, for whatever reason, my mother hated this place. But Emily was now a stone's throw away and that could only be for the better.

I exit the truck also, albeit a little slower than my mother. I take in my surroundings but there really isn't much to look at.

"Maggie!" Emily exclaimed before enveloping me in a hug, there was something to be said about Emily's hugs. They always left you feeling warm and clear-headed. Like her touch alone could put everything into perspective. "I'm so glad you guys are here, I've missed you both so much!" She cooed, Emily was probably the only human being in the entire world that could coo and it wouldn't be annoying.

"I've missed you too." I replied, Emily pulled away only long enough to see the smile that had spread across my face before wrapping me up in another hug.

"I just can't believe you guys are actually here," She whispered, squeezing me a little tighter than before. "I kept thinking your mom was going to change her mind, but you're here, both of you." Disbelief coated each hushed word and I felt a pang in my chest.

"I know, it was a long drive, but here we are." I try and force the words to be light and airy like Emily's, but instead they just come out half a chuckle, half a grimace.

"Oh, I know it! You two must be exhausted, listen to me rambling on. Come in!" Our embrace ended and she grabbed my mother's hand effortlessly lacing their fingers together. I follow behind a little slower.

The faint sound of whistling could be heard with the slightest of breezes, along with metal clashing against metal -

_Wind chimes_.

Dream catchers hung from the ceiling as well, dangling and twisting in the moonlight. It was mesmerizing. I let my hand crawl up the porch banister slowly, the wood is weathered and whittled away at, by time, and circumstance. For some reason it makes me smile.

This house has a history.

* * *

Not a single sound could be heard, save for the whistling of the wind and the ever present song of knick knacks that hung from the porch. It's an overwhelming song that beats and beats always interrupting the temporary silence. My fingers twitched in response.

I had no idea what time it was, just that everyone went to sleep a while ago. Sam had ushered the effervescent Emily to bed after she'd showed us our sleeping arrangements. Mother had taken the spare bedroom and I took the couch, we could have shared, but mom snores.

I flutter my fingers repeatedly in an attempt to make the twitching stop. I've had the tic long enough now to know this won't work. But I try anyway, an ache coils up my forearm and settles in the tips of my fingers. I want to cry from how bad it hurts. I tap my fingers against my stomach rapidly but the burning always finds its way into my bones.

_Hot_, it's so hot.

I throw the blanket to the side and sit up, my chests heaves and my shoulders shake from the effort of keeping quiet. My mother doesn't know about my tic. It developed right after my father died when she was lost in her grief.

I mean, what was I supposed to tell her? Hey, remember dad's funeral. Yeah, that was sad. But, also remember how I thought I saw a wolf. Well I think it probably cursed me or something because now I have this thing, it's like a tic or something and it's only ever satisfied after I draw the wolf. So, yeah, do with that ridiculous information what you will.

That would go over _so_ well. My mom would probably have me committed.

Slowly, much more so than my tic would like, I crept up. I take a step forward, and then another. Each step echoed loudly in my ears, and I cringed at the unexpected squeaks. I pray the whole time that I don't wake anyone up, what would I even say?

When I get outside the wind calms the burning in my fingers, I know it won't be for long but for now I am calm.

"Who's there?" came a low gravelly voice sending my heart into a frenzy, heat spread to my cheeks. An entirely different kind from the one perpetually woven into my fingers. I had been caught. Worst of all I hadn't even seen anyone, but sure enough a large silhouette was slouched over on the steps. He didn't bother looking at me, I probably wouldn't have been able to make out his features anyways, it was too dark.

"Maggie, who are you?" I replied cautiously, the man didn't sound angry, he didn't really sound surprised either. However, I knew to be wary of strange men I'd never met, especially at night.

"Hmm." he grunts in response, and for a moment I don't think he's going to answer my question. He tilts his head upwards, and lets out a long sigh. "I'm Paul."

"Okay, Paul. What are you doing out here in the middle of the night? And why are you at my aunt's house?" I felt braver now, but I still let one hand rest behind me against the doorknob of the house. Just in case.

"Everything's so much slower at night. You know? Like during the day nothing ever sits still. And sometimes you just need to be still." His voice sends my heart beating, and not in panic. Something about it was calming, almost. "It's easy to forget that we were all human once."

"What else would we be?" I ask feeling dumb.

"I don't know." He muses and I let my hand fall from the door knob. A strange silence settles over us.

After a moment he speaks again,"Sometimes I feel like I'm floating and there's nothing really keeping me here. Like yeah it's gravity, but I have this sinking feeling that one day it won't be enough."

Once again I'm rendered speechless, I don't know what it was, but something about the night always makes sharing secrets with strangers easy.

"I think I know what you mean." I start off carefully, a little unsure, a little unsteady.

"Hmm, do you?" He ponders before abruptly standing, "I believe I may have overstayed my welcome." Feet hit wood and then grass and he's gone. I want to call after him but what would I say? He was a literal stranger, for all I knew he might not even know Sam or Emily. And he was just sitting out here.

_But he wasn't hurting anyone. _A part of me screamed, a much larger, more logical part responded. _But that doesn't matter! He could be a serial killer. _

I stare out into the darkness feeling unsettled, deeply. My fingers weren't twitching anymore, the ache now a distant memory.

_And sometimes you just need to be still. _


	3. how forlorn is the white bird

**how forlorn is the white bird**

"no one is free, even the birds are chained to the sky."

Bob Dylan

The next morning, I woke up to the smell of bacon, which I thought was odd, mom never cooked breakfast. And then all at once yesterday came tumbling back. Boulders of memory hurtling down over rock and wood until I was sure the weight would crush me. We weren't at home. We were at Emily's. The strange exchange I had last night replayed in my mind, foggy in that way things sometimes are when you can't tell dream from reality.

_And sometimes you just need to be still. _

His voice had been low and uncertain. Cautious like maybe he was afraid of speaking the words aloud; in case they'd come to life around him, and then suddenly he wouldn't be attached to anything or anyone. He'd left so quickly and in the silence that followed it was like he'd never existed at all. Had I hallucinated him? Was he a figment of my imagination? _No. _

His shoulders were drawn up so tightly and in that moment nothing in the whole world could have brought them down. I could fabricate the fear, and the worry but not _that_, I couldn't make that up.

"Oh, good you're awake! I didn't want to disturb you since we had such a long drive yesterday." My mother's voice resonated throughout the living room, bouncing off of delicate handmade dream catchers. She wore a small quiet smile on her tanned face, her dark hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail. My mom's hands were wrapped around a mug, steam spilled from the top. I couldn't remember the last time she looked so domestic. "Emily made breakfast, but I would recommend getting dressed before you head into the kitchen. Sam's friends are here."

Did my mother wink? I could have sworn she winked.

"Ah, okay." I grumble, I rub the sleep from my eyes and try to navigate my way out of the blankets. In the night I'd somehow tangled myself in them so thoroughly only fractions of my skin were visible.

I took a quick shower and when I was convinced I was decent enough to meet Sam's friends I headed to the kitchen. Ambient laughter filtered through the hallway; anxiety twisted in my stomach. _Turn around. Turn around. Turn around._

I'd have to meet them eventually though. Ignoring the pulsing of my heart I follow the hallway to its end. I was brave enough to keep walking when my chest had pounded out its apprehensive message, when it begged me to _turn around. _But I'm not brave enough to do anything but peer inside the kitchen.

Seated around a large table are a multitude of shirtless men, I think I only count five dark heads, but they are all shirtless and reaching over each other. They blend together after a while; chatter fills the room and I am thankful for that. In between mouthfuls of food they lob stray strips of bacon at each other. So much is happening I can only pick out bits and pieces of the conversation but nothing discernible.

"Maggie!" I was so busy watching the plethora of shirtless men that I didn't notice Emily's eyes on me, my head snaps in her direction and in response everyone turns towards me. For some reason it's humiliating, and I have no idea why. "I hope you slept well, and that these loud mouths didn't wake you up." She chuckles good-naturedly.

"No, not at all. I slept great, thank you." I lied, she didn't have to know about the tic, or my escapade on the porch. I search the mass of boys and I wonder if one of them is the one from last night, Paul. I didn't get a good luck at his face, just his large hunched up shoulders. Yet, something tells me he isn't here.

I choke down the disappointment.

"Save some food for Maggie," Emily admonishes smacking the back of one of the boy's head. So they weren't just Sam's friends. "Scooch over."

Instantly they obeyed. Okay, so Emily was a witch. There was no other explanation, I've never seen a group of teenage boys follow a command so thoroughly.

"Come on, we don't bite." Howled one of the boys. Their unfaltering gaze sets my cheeks ablaze, _take a step_, my heart pleaded, _take another_. _It doesn't matter how; you just have to get there._

I end up sandwiched between two of the smaller guys, but that wasn't really saying much considering none of them were under six feet. Emily sat a plate of food down in front of me and I smiled up at her gratefully.

"Hey, you going to eat that?" The boy on my right asked, and before I could respond a large tanned hand reached across me to pick at my plate.

"Bro, where are your manners?" A soft voice spoke up from my left, glad to know someone was paying attention to the injustice that had just occurred.

"What? Maggie doesn't mind. We're best friends." Shrugged the guy on my right chomping happily away at _my _bacon.

"How can we be best friends if I don't even know your name?" I quipped my voice coming out a little more uncertain than I would have liked.

"I'm Jared, _see_, now we're best friends." He held out a greasy hand, looking rather pleased. Warily, I reached out to meet him halfway. His massive hand engulfed mine in a firm handshake. The first thing I noticed was that it was warm, no, not warm. _Hot._ When he let go I wiped the grease away on my jeans.

"Classy." Snorted the guy on my right, who I still didn't know the name of. Come to think of it I didn't know any of their names save for Jared.

"Shut up Seth." Jared reached around me and jostled the boy's shoulder playfully. So, their table manners needed a little work, or at least Jared's did.

In an effort to gain more knowledge on who these guys were I stuck out a reluctant finger and pointed at Jared, "Okay, so you're Jared –"

"If you'd refer to me as your _best friend_, Jared. That'd be cool." He interrupted and then at my hesitation nodded encouragingly sporting two thumbs up and a wide-open mouth grin. I couldn't lie, it was infectious.

"Right," I gulped and then turned to my left, "You're Seth. But who are they?"

Across the table one of the boys lifted his head and gave me a weak smile, two of his fingers lifted in a half-hearted wave, "Jacob." Then he went back to rolling a plushy red ball across the table with the palm of his hand.

"Don't mind him, he's going through girl troubles." Jared whispered beside me; almost instantaneously Jacob chucked the ball he'd previously been toying with at Jared's head. It made contact with his forehead and landed on the floor beside him. Jared didn't even flinch, instead he stuck a tongue out at him and no more was said on the subject.

"I'm Quil Atera," Offered another boy with ridiculously curly hair. He then pointed a thumb at the guy next to him, "And this is Embry."

"He's really shy." Jared once again whispered to me; Embry didn't have a red ball on hand to throw at Jared. But I doubt it would have done much good anyways, Jared didn't seem to stop talking even when people had inanimate objects to send his way. Instead Embry gave a small smile.

"Dude, shut up and let her eat her breakfast." Seth exclaimed from beside me. Jared's eyebrows went up at that.

Always with something to say, Jared proclaimed loudly, "Excuse me little dude, she can eat and listen to me talk at the same time. The two things aren't mutually exclusive."

"Do you even know what mutually exclusive means?" Quil pressed and even Jacob who didn't seem to have a smile for anyone looked up at that, the sides of his lips twitched treacherously.

"Ouch," Jared pressed a flat palm to his bare chest and pretended to be wounded.

"Someone's been spending too much time with Kim Conweller." Seth teased, and in perfect tandem the boys around him all made mock kissy faces.

Jared didn't miss a beat, "You laugh! But I'm the one with the super-hot girlfriend so."

"Last time I checked she wasn't your girlfriend yet." Chimed Embry, his voice was softer than I thought it would be. His smile was large and beaming.

"She will be, trust me." Jared responded with a sincerity that startled me. And it wasn't like the brain-dead confidence of someone planning on making a conquest. He stated it so simply, like he knew unfailing that he'd end up with Kim. What did that kind of certainty cost him?

Their banter was amusing to watch but I couldn't shake the feeling that I was an outsider, standing behind a window watching everything play out in front of me.

"Hey, what's with the eyebrow crease dude?" Jared said, pressing a warm finger in between my brows. Which made me laugh, like really laugh.

"God, what fucking animal are you guys killing in here?"

Mid snort I look up and there he is, I don't even have to ask, I know without a doubt, it's Paul. His face is all scrunched up. I feel heat wash over my entire body, I can't believe he mistook my laugh for some kind of pig slaughter. _Perfect_. At least I knew he was a friend of Sam's and not a serial killer now.

"Don't be a jerk, Paul." Seth chimed up from beside me, I don't look at him because I am too busy being a coward and staring at my hands. But telepathically I am sending my thanks.

Jacob rests his head in his hands, and without even looking in his direction churns out, "Yeah, play nice. It's Em's niece."

"That's Paul Lahote. Our resident _bad_ boy." Jared leans in close to me, once again whispering. He says bad with a smirk and I can't tell if he's teasing Paul or me.

"Yeah, yeah." Paul grumbles insincerely before rubbing the back of his neck, "Breakfast's over. Sam said it's time to get the show on the road. We've got a lot to do today and if we wanna get everything moved in by this afternoon we gotta get cracking."

A low murmur passes through the boys, but none of them speak against him. Except for Jared who apparently had no sense of self-preservation. "I wasn't finished."

"Maybe if you hadn't spent the whole time yacking you would've." Quil teases flicking Jared as he walks by.

"Hey!" Jared's hands fly up to his ear in mock pain.

"Hurry up boys," Paul grinds out while rubbing the palms of his hands together. Something about it feels _predatory. _I don't let my eyes settle on him for long though. Instead, like the brave soul I am, I sneak quick peeks out of my peripherals.

Jared's the last to leave the kitchen table, his eyes linger on me and then back to Paul. For a moment I think he's going to say something but he doesn't. He follows Paul out of the kitchen wordlessly, but when Jared's sure Paul's back is turned he sends me a salute.

Sam's friends were nice, _good_. I had expected them to be old and serious. But they all seemed fairly young, maybe even my age. What was Sam doing hanging out with kids my age?

* * *

Shortly after the boys had left, Emily, my mom, and I headed over to our new house. The guys had already carried all the heavy furniture inside. The only thing left to do was put stuff away, which was delegated to my mom, and me. For obvious reasons. Emily tagged along for moral support.

The boys headed out shortly after they'd finished, my mother made sure they were richly rewarded. In pizza of course. I couldn't believe how much room they had in their stomachs.

While I enjoyed their company much more than I thought I would I was very glad when Sam announced they had to leave. Work stuff.

Paul made me uncomfortable, and I thought I might jump out of my skin if my eyes accidentally landed on him again. He probably thought I was obsessed. With all my peeking and staring. I couldn't help it though, he was so different from the night before.

Just as I finished unpacking the last few boxes of my room my hand twitched, that awful burning sensation consumed my fingers. The tic hadn't been satisfied last night so I wasn't surprised it was rearing its ugly head. It still hurt though. A lot.

I scrambled to find a piece of paper and pen, I looked through four boxes before I found what I needed. My hand twitches again, white hot pain shoots through my fingers. An ugly cry of bone and electricity. I drew the wolf as quickly as I could. _Nothing. _

It wasn't the wolf my tic wanted.

It was Paul.

I thought about letting it burn, no way in hell could I draw him. That was weird, I didn't even know him. What if he saw them some day? God, that would be mortifying. I would never live it down. I would exist forever as the creepy stalker girl that drew people without their permission.

But my tic didn't care what was embarrassing, or about personal repercussions. It wanted what it wanted. _You can tear it up, _my brain reasoned, _You don't have to keep it. _

Begrudgingly I gave in, Paul didn't have to know, _but I'll know,_ my heart argued, _and every single time I see him I'll think about it. The wolf is one thing. But a human being? Paul? No. _

I wanted to stop, I told myself I would. _Just one more line, just one more line, just one more line. _But the tic is nothing if not persistent. It wouldn't be satisfied until graphite covered the page. I got it wrong, a lot. Everytime I tried to picture him I couldn't remember what his eyes looked like. Always, I got the eyes wrong.

"Knock knock!" My mother's soft voice filtered in through my near empty bedroom, startling me from my drawings. I spin around in my seat to see her leaning against the door frame. "aren't you supposed to be unpacking?" She cocks an eyebrow in that way only a mother knew how to do. But she wasn't angry.

"Definitely," I agree, and then without thinking I gesture towards my sketchbook,"but I got distracted."

"Oh, what are you drawing?" My mother asked curiously, it'd been a long time since she was interested in my art. I snapped the book shut before she'd even reached my side. _Great job, Maggie. _That's not suspicious.

"Nothing good!" I insisted cradling the book close to my chest. My mother finding out I drew a boy would be just as bad as said boy finding out. She would lose it, probably give me the talk, cry a little, and then invite him over for dinner.

"Don't be ridiculous, everything you draw is good!" And then she smiled at me, a real one. An honest to god real smile.

"Mom, it's not." I snap. She recoils in response, she stares at me for a moment. I can't tell what she's thinking but I match her gaze anyways. The smiles gone, and that's what I'm most sorry for.

"I see," she responds tersely before smoothing a few stray hands of dark hair to her head. "Perfect, I'll let you know when dinner's done." And without a second glance she strides out of the room.

I'm sorry for that too.


	4. tiny beautiful things

**A/N: Here's where things start to get wonky, basically we're introducing some new characters. One being Claire Young, Emily's actual niece. In this story she won't be Emily's niece and she won't be four. **

**There will be little accuracy as far as what the school they're going to looks like solely because I'm not a good enough writer to describe it, so i'm just going to make up my own stuff. **

**Anywhooza, if you can get past all of that nonsense welcome to the 4th chapter!**

**All characters minus my oc's belong to Stephanie Meyer. No beta, so all mistakes are mine.**

**tiny beautiful things**

_Says the free bird, "Among bars, where is there room to spread one's wings?"_

"_Alas," cried the caged bird, "I should not know where to sit perched in the sky." _

Rabindranath Tagore

"Alright, so here's your class schedule. If you have any questions, ask Kim Conweller, she'll be here shortly to take you to your locker. She'll also escort you to your classes, our high school isn't very big so you shouldn't get lost." The secretary's low deadpan voice fills the small office as she points out things on my schedule.

When she's finished explaining she smooths down her perfectly flat hair and turns to the young boy next to me, his head is tilted back and a handful of paper towels are pressed to his face. Speckles of blood seep through the off-white cotton.

The first thing I noticed about the La Push High School was that it wasn't even really a high school, elementary kids ran freely down the hallways, and middle schoolers gossiped in clusters.

There was only one secretary, and she had a small box of an office in the center of the school.

Two small girls came into the office clutching white envelopes to their chests, "Excuse me, lunch money," squeaked the smaller one. I backed up and fell straight into a plastic blue chair that had been pushed up against the wall. I knew the close proximity was getting to me when my first instinct was to kick the chair and assert my dominance.

Luckly, I was saved from that small embarrassment. The door gave way to reveal a rather short girl, her dark hair was pinned back in a way my mother might wear it. Large rounded glasses sat low on her face. She wore a white button down shirt with a cardigan. When her eyes met mine she flashed me a smile and I was not at all surprised to find that her teeth were just as straight and perfect as the rest of her.

"You must be Margaret!" Whom I presumed to be Kim bounced towards me, which is really the only way I could describe it. She was so light on the balls of her feet, her head bobbed with each step. She clasped my hands in her own, "I'm Kim Conweller, student body president. So, introducing the new kids always falls to me, except we don't really ever have new kids. Thank you for finally making me feel important."

"It's nice to meet you, can you show me to my locker though? This office is ridiculous and if one more person squeezes in, I might lose it." I try to chuckle and make my voice soft like Emily's but the relaxed ease with which she speaks can't be replicated. The words slip out through the gaps of my teeth and even I can hear the bitter undercurrent.

"Oh! Of course, you're probably not used to such a small school, huh?" Kim pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose and leads me out of the secretary's office, "So, where'd you go before this?"

Kim falls into step beside me easily, "I lived in Minnesota, I went to a pretty big school actually so this whole one room schoolhouse situation has me feeling a little tense," I replied cautiously, I peek at her from my peripherals, I don't want to accidentally insult the first person I meet here.

"I know, it can be pretty overwhelming huh? But no worries. Our school is actually separated by wings, so you won't be seeing much of the younger kids. We only have one main office, though, so it gets kinda hectic." I feel instantaneously better as Kim's words wash over me. It wasn't like I hated small spaces, or I couldn't handle crowds. They were _fine_, but if you combined the two I was left feeling irrationally claustrophobic.

We walk in silence for a moment, she leads me down a few deserted hallways. Messy children's art is taped haphazardly to the off white cinderblock walls, it's not as chaotic as I first thought. However, the silence that settles over us makes my skin crawl.

I turn to Kim and hand her my schedule, "Will I have any classes with you?"

Kim looks over my schedule for a moment, and then fixes a brilliant smile on me, "We have government together, and chemistry. All my other classes are online." She hands me back my schedule, and I am relieved to know we'll at least have two classes together. My relief is short lived, however; because that means I'll have six other classes with people I don't know. _Yeah_, my brain chimed, _that's how being the new kid works._

As if Kim could sense my internal monologue, she turns to me, "Everyone here is super nice, I'm sure you'll make loads of friends in no time." For my part I try not to scoff at Kim's words, but socializing with a bunch of teenagers that have known each for years wasn't my speciality. She fixes her glasses again and continues, "I bet you'll get snatched up by some super cool people before lunch _and_ if you aren't you can definitely sit with me and my friend Claire. Oh, turn left up here."

Kim steers me left and the flat carpet that had covered the hallways previously switches to a swirling marble. Dark blue lockers press up against the walls, only interrupted by the occasional wooden door with a long rectangular window cut at the top. Passing periods must be atrocious.

"The locker numbers are on the top, so that's pretty helpful. The classroom's are all labeled too. And for the most part it's in numerical order, save for a few oddities, like the art room," Kim trails off and her stride falters as we get closer to my locker, "210… 211… 212!"

All the lockers looked virtually the same, save for a few flyers that seemed to be sporadically taped across the metal, dark plaques with embroidered numbers rests at the top and I have to crane my neck to see them.

"Technically all the lockers are supposed to have locks, but there's so little room and time to get to them during the passing period no one really bothers, we usually just carry our bags and stuff around with us." Kim pushes the plastic handle up and the door creaks open. Empty, of course, a cubby sits at the top and a few hooks hung below that.

Kim gestures towards the gunmetal gray back door of the locker, "Pretty ugly, so some people decorate their lockers. You totally can, I mean my best friend Claire did, but I didn't, I don't use my locker enough to care. But yeah, these are the lockers, not super interesting I know -"

"Yo, Kimmy, where's my oatmeal raisin cookie?" A loud voice filled the nearly empty hallways, nobody looked up from their quiet conversations, I wondered if this girl was loud often. She traipsed over to us, adjusting her satchel-esque bag littered with pins across her chest. Her hair was pulled into a messy dark bun on the top of her head, but her hair wasn't quite long enough for it so a handful of strands dangled loosely. A multitude of long necklaces hung from her throat, she wore a long floral cardigan, the material was sheer enough to see the white tank top beneath.

"What? Oh! Shoot, I forgot about it, sorry Claire." Kim apologizes sheepishly, adjusting her glasses again. I could tell she meant it.

"Ugh, I was thinking about it all last night, my stomach is very disappointed in you." Claire groaned as she got closer, swaying her arms in a way that could only be described as toddler-ish. When she finally reached us she straightened up and sent me a friendly smile, "Oh, who's this?"

"This is Margaret Bowen." Kim supplied, I lifted an awkward heavy hand and waved.

I started to speak but my voice was hoarse and wobbly from misuse, I cleared my throat a bit and tried to send them my rendition of the infamous Emily Young smile, "You can call me Maggie though."

"She's a new student, I was showing her around, yah know official student body president duties." Kim squares her shoulders at that last bit and laughs easily along with Claire.

"Well, It's great to meet you Maggie Bowen. I'm Claire." She extends a jewelry covered arm towards me, her hands are soft and warm.

"Lemme see your schedule." She orders not unkindly, I hand it over to her and she gives it a quick once over before tossing it back to me and rummaging in her bag for something, "Sweet, we have art and English together, do you want a twizzler?"

"Oh, no thank you." I shake my head fervently at the sight of the long twisted licorice, almost immediately I felt fear coil up in my stomach, I wondered if maybe I'd come off too strong. I had just met Kim and Claire but I really _really_ wanted them to like me. Claire shrugs her shoulders and begins chewing on a long strip of the candy.

Almost as if the universe could sense my unease, the bell let out a peeling ring and people began filtering into the hallway, as I'd predicted it was chaos. Ambient chatter filled the halls.

"I'll see you at lunch Kimmy, and I hope to see you as well Maggie Bowen." Claire calls after us in between bites of candy, bodies flow down the hallway and she navigates her way in the opposite direction easily. Chatting people up along the way.

"I probably should have warned you, Claire can be a little intense. Definitely from all the sugar she eats. But she's passionate about everything, and totally means well. Like the nicest human being alive, I mean she's probably the only person in the world that likes oatmeal raisin cookies." Kim offers me a soft almost apologetic smile, and begins to lead me in the direction of my first class. _Math, blegh. _

"Oh, no worries. Claire seems amazing. I'm just ridiculously awkward." I chuckle anxiously and Kim bobs her head along with my words.

"Totally, me too. I've just been exposed to her for so long I've kinda become desensitized, you know?" It's my turn to nod along to Kim's words now, she stops in front of a classroom labeled 227. "Well, this is it, _Trigonometry_," Kim shudders at the word trigonometry and then turns to me, "if you wait here when class gets out I can take you to your next one."

"Thank you so much," I replied sincerely, Kim opens her mouth to speak again but students began shuffling into the classroom, contrary to popular belief, it wasn't easy to hold a conversation over a bunch of tired teenagers. Before heading to her class Kim hops up onto the tips of her toes and sends me a wave.

As the last few people begin trickling in, I watch the unmoving wooden door and try to build up the courage to peel it open and head inside.

"What, don't know how to work a door?" A low voice snorts from behind me, I whip around and my eyes land on a ragged pair of sneakers, muddy and held together by duct tape. I know without even looking who it is.

_Paul_.

My hand twitches, and I duck my head. I can feel the heat rushing to my face. I so desperately want to hide from him. Luckily, he doesn't seem interested in prolonging my torture. He flung the door open easily and headed inside without a second glance.

_One step,_ my heart pleads, still beating desperately, _you get to where you're going one step at a time just like everybody else._

One step.

* * *

By the time the lunch bell rings I have a massive headache. I had in fact not been swept up by a group of people willing to extend a lunch invitation to me, so I followed Kim silently out of the government classroom. We stood pressed against the wall watching the push and pull of student's.

"Well, well, well, if isn't Kimmantha Conweller and Maggie Bowen." Claire's boisterous laugh rung high above the pitter-patter of dissolving conversation in front of us. The government teacher, Mrs. Bailey sent Claire a withering look and pressed a long wrinkled fingers to her lips.

I couldn't be sure but I thought I heard Claire hiss at the older woman as she parted the oncoming swarm of students, before painting on a wide open mouth smile. You didn't have to know Claire very well to know her real smile from her fake one, "Oi, Mrs. Bailey did you get a haircut? Those curls are looking extra bouncy today!" Mrs. Bailey brought a self conscious hand to her hair before storming into her classroom.

"That old lady loves me." Claire proclaimed when she got closer to Kim and I.

Kim shoved her playfully, "You're such a menace."

"Kimbo! You insult me." Claire clutched at her heart in mock pain and despite myself I couldn't quite fight the quirk of my lips.

"Yeah, yeah, we better get going or the good seats are going to be taken." Kim waved the girl off and charged ahead, most of the students had passed so we fell into step beside each other. We took up the majority of the hallway and for once it felt nice to be that big.

"So, how has your day been so far Maggie Bowen?" Claire turns her mischievous eyes on me before pulling a large bag of sour patch kids from her satchel and popping a few in her mouth. Before I could answer she holds the bag out in my direction, "You want some?"

"Oh, uh thanks. But I'm okay." She shrugs and sticks a few more gummies into her mouth. "It's been okay, everyone's been like weirdly nice. All of the teachers are like halfway through their lessons though, so I've got loads of stuff to do. And like I've got this massive headache. Sorry, I'm complaining so much."

"No worries, school blows. If you need help with your work though Kimmel over here has got your back. She's stupid smart." Claire affirms and Kim shakes her head in response. "Oh my god, the drama kids are having another bake sale!" Without another word Claire bounces away in search of sugary treats.

The cafeteria is bigger than I thought it would be, large rounded tables fill the room, and almost all of them are occupied. Large glass windows line the far wall and expose a few empty picnic benches. Rain fell from the sky relentlessly, so it wasn't a surprise that nobody inhabited them.

Kim twists to look at me and schools her features to be perfectly serious, "Claire's a little crude, but she's right. School for lack of a better term, _blows_." She squeezes the word blow out and I chuckle at that. "But, I really will help you. Not that you need it or anything, but just in case. Don't hesitate to ask,"

"Thanks, I wouldn't want to bother you though." I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear suddenly feeling bashful. I didn't know how much of Kim's friendliness was because she had responsibilities to fulfill as the student body president or because she was genuinely interested in befriending me. I desperately wanted to believe it was the ladder, but compared to Claire I wasn't super exciting.

"Definitely not a bother! Gosh, it's super nerdy, but I actually love helping people study. In truth, I think the gods sent you to me, they probably heard me threaten to shave off Claire's eyebrows if she called me Kimmantha one more time." Kim snorted.

I don't get the chance to respond however, because my hand starts it's god awful twitching and the little hairs on my arm stand at attention. I whip around and there's _Paul_. He's got his backpack slung over his shoulder and his shirt clings to his body tightly. He doesn't even look at us as he pushes past us and grumbles, "God, move out of the damn way. Don't know why everyone always has to to have a fucking conversation in the middle of the hallway."

_Screw you_, I want to call after him, _just because you're beautiful and tall and really good at trigonometry doesn't justify being a jerk! _But he's too far gone, and I've never been that kind of brave.

"Ugh, that's Paul Lahote. He's kind of awful," Kim rolls her eyes from beside me. "You just have to ignore him, his bark is most definitely worse than his bite, I mean he acts all tough and crap but I doubt he's ever actually been in a real fight. Anyways, better hurry up or we won't have time to eat our lunch."

"Yeah." I nod along, and follow Kim to the back of the lunch line.

I scan the cafeteria and my treacherous eyes land on that _awful tall jerk_, he's perched on top of the table eating a sandwich. Sam's friends from yesterday are all gathered around him laughing and tossing food. Quil says something and Jared throws his head back.

"Guys, I just bought four brownies for the price of two! Can you believe it? I think Ethan has a crush on me. He was trying awfully hard to sell those rice crispy treats." Claire bounces over hands splayed wide to show us her spoils.

"Whatever you say, Claire." Kim chuckles and hands each of us a large blue tray.

"What's that supposed to mean Kimothy? I am clearly a sex machine."Claire proclaims gesturing wildly to herself. The lunch lady sends her a warning glare and collectively we burst into a fit of laughter.

Claire turns a skeptical eye on me, as we head down the line. "You too, Maggie Bowen? Frankly I'm _hurt_."

I throw my hands up in surrender, before getting a cheeseburger, "Claire, I've seen sex machines and they are decidedly not five four and a 130 pounds." Kim laughs at that and Claire's mouth falls open.

"Okay, that was just rude, Maggie Bowen. You're what, an inch taller than me?" Claire punches in her lunch number, Kim follows suit and shoots me an amused glance.

"Yes, but I wasn't the one claiming to be a sex machine." I point out and the girls laugh at that. Like a full belly laugh that starts low and travels up your stomach, I flush with pride. Desperately, I want these girls to like me.

"Hmm, I think this is going to work out _just _fine, Maggie Bowen."


	5. the pages of day and night

**A/N: Thanks for reading my messy little story! The reviews make my pathetic little heart soar, and keep my grubby hands typing! **

**P.S. This wasn't meant to be angsty but it gets a little bit heavy, oopsie, (you'll know what I mean when yah get there). Can I just say this has been a headache to write, I don't know why I've had so much trouble with it. I'm not incredibly pleased with the outcome, so I hope that doesn't show, but it's my longest chapter to date so that's always fun. Should I stick to 2-3 thousand word chapters or amp it up to 5-6?**

**No beta, so all mistakes are a hundred percent mine!**

**the pages of day and night**

_"for if the world treats you well, sir, _

_you come to believe you are deserving of it."_

Margaret Atwood

"Maggie," My mother calls from the kitchen; I follow the echo of her voice, along with the disturbing click clack of a keyboard into the dining room. The low clamor of the keys sets me on edge; it bounces off the empty walls and sends my thoughts spiraling. I can't fight the aggravating twitch in my fingers. Perched at the dining room table is my mother, she offers me a serene smile, "How was your first day of school honey?"

"Oh, uh it was pretty good I suppose." I try to sound nonchalant; I don't want to let on how stressful it truly was. After all I was on team _moving is a good thing_. Starting a new school was all well and good in theory, but, I still felt like a complete outsider. _It's been one day, _my brain reasons, _give it time._

I set my bag on the floor and pull out a chair; I ignore the grating scrap of wood on wood, it sends a shiver down my spine, anyways. I take a seat across from my mom and shrug of my jacket. She's furiously tapping away at her laptop, eyes focused entirely on the screen. She's got reading glasses settled low on her nose, blue light reflects in her glasses and bounces off her russet skin.

I don't know why I find it so off-putting.

"Did you make some friends? Was everyone nice?" She asks, but doesn't bother looking away from the screen.

"Yeah, everyone was super great, I met uh these two girls, I think we're going to be good friends. At any rate I _hope_ so." I think of Kim and Claire, and how easy it was to pretend I've known them my whole life. My finger twitches again and I tap it against the dark oak table just to do something with myself.

"Well, if all else fails Sam's friends go to school there don't they? You can just hang out with them." I think my mother's joking at first, but she doesn't crack a smile or fix knowing eyes on me. She just keeps typing away.

When I realize she is being serious, I recoil, "Uhm, definitely _not_."

My mother's fingers hesitate at that, but only for a moment, "What? I thought you liked them."

"They are all perfectly nice mother," _Not Paul_, my brain chimes, I do my best to ignore it, "but they've got their own like little group or club or whatever, I definitely wouldn't fit in. Nor would I want too. That's so weird!" Silence falls over us save for my mother's _incessant typing._ My heart pounds in tandem with her tapping.

The silence makes my skin itch, I choke out, "Don't you think it's like _weird,_ though?" Partially because I really couldn't stand the quiet, and partially because that question had been weighing heavily on my mind since I'd met Sam's friends.

"Hmm?" My mother hums absently, _still typing._

"That Sam's like friends with a bunch of teenagers? Isn't he like your age?" I question, and despite myself I can't fight the ever present crease of my eyebrows.

My mother's hand stills at that and _finally_, she looks at me, "It's not so strange, besides, he's not much older than them anyways."

I tap my fingers hastily against the table, "But like, he doesn't really treat them like his friends, does he? It's kinda like, he's _leading_ them."

She regards me carefully, and something I can't discern flashes in my mother's eyes and it makes my stomach flip.

My mother swallows hard, before settling on something, "Well, they've all been through some difficult things, they don't really have anyone else to look after them and they all think of Sam like a brother. _He might as well be_, and there's nothing weird about that." My mother speaks passionately, almost like she knew these boys. Which was impossible, we just moved here. I want to ask, but the finality in her voice tells me that she was done with this subject for now.

"I'll be starting work tomorrow, nights again unfortunately." My mother says chirpily, and I roll my eyes without fear of being chastised because my mother's attention had already returned back to her computer screen.

I tap the table again, even though I don't feel the familiar burning in my fingers anymore. When it's clear the conversation is over I stand up and sling my bag over my shoulder. I was already mentally preparing myself for the copious amounts of homework I had to do.

"Oh, and Maggie," My mother's voice calls me back, I whip around and she's resting her head in her hands, "Sue Clearwater told me about this cute little nursing home, they're in desperate need of volunteers. Pretty close to your job back home, yeah?"

I didn't technically work at the nursing home in Minnesota, but I did go there every weekend to spend time with some of the resident's there. It had started as a community service project for one of my classes, and then eventually turned into something I'd ended up loving.

I'm a little skeptical though, it wasn't that I wasn't interested in putting roots down and making this place my home _officially_, but something alarming sat low in my belly, coiling up and making its home there.

"Great, I'll check it out tomorrow," I give my mother an anxious smile before heading upstairs.

* * *

True to my word I head to the nursing home after school the next day, it's pretty run down. I don't know why this surprises me, though. Very few things in La Push, Washington could really truly be described as _nice_. Save for Emily's house, but I suppose that was more a matter of preference.

It's a small little brick building hiding behind a grove of trees, a flurry of moss and leaves cling to the sides of the building, growing chaotically ever upwards obscuring parts of the windows. The beige paint covering the bricks was muddy and seemingly chipped sporadically revealing pieces of the bone white cinderblocks residing beneath the brush of color. A small dark sign was erected by the front door; large chalky handwriting had scrawled the office hours and the name _Twin Oaks_ along the dark wood.

While it wasn't much to look at, I _loved_ it. It was easy to miss this building hidden by an undergrowth of green; it had a quiet unassuming beauty that resonated within me.

I push open the glass door and akin to that of a gas station a melodic silver bell chimes disrupting the silence. A dark welcome matt was placed neatly above patches of carpet.

"Hello!" I was greeted immediately by a woman with thin blonde hair pulled back in a low bun; she had round tired eyes but fixed a bright smile on me anyways. Only her head was visible behind the large mahogany desk she sat at. Small potted plants lined the edge of the counter. Some grew so long vines traveled down the length of the desk and formed a waterfall of green in its wake.

"Hi, my name's Maggie Bowen." I smiled tucking a strand of dark hair behind my ear, and eagerly offering her my hand. She suppressed a smile at that and stood up pushing her chair back as she did so, and then enveloped my hand in her own.

"Are you here to visit someone?" She asked me curiously checking over a clipboard, no doubt searching for my name.

"Oh! Uh no, I'm not actually. My mother might have called? I'm supposed to meet with Peter?" I adjust my bag on my shoulder nervously_, maybe you've got the wrong place_, my heart took off at that thought, _no, don't be silly, you saw the sign. This is Twin Oaks._ I splay my hands out in panic, "Unless she didn't call! I'm sorry, I -"

"Oh, no worries, love. She did. I just didn't recognize your name, it was written down as Margaret," I inwardly curse my mother; she _knew_ I didn't introduce myself as Margaret, so, why would she do that? Heat rises in my chest, but I will it away, it wasn't like my mother had some kind of ridiculous ulterior motive, "I was expecting someone older, s'all. Peter is in his office, but he'll be out in just a minute. You can have a seat over there, honey." The woman had a white name tag clipped to her shirt, written across the plastic in neat rounded letters was the name _Lauren_.

"Thank you," I whisper, and take a seat in one of the padded chairs she'd motioned to. She fixes a small smile on me for a moment and then goes back to her work. I use this as an opportunity to take a look around.

White carpet covered the floors, and a large framed oil painting of a harbor hung above the chair I sat in. An analog clock was pinned to the wall above the secretary's desk. _3:15_. I tapped my fingers against the smooth denim of my jeans nervously.

_Was this a bad idea?_ My stomach rolled anxiously, and for an absurd moment I thought I was going to sick. But then a large wooden door was pushed open revealing a tall lanky man with large square glasses and graying hair. He slinked over to me extending large spidery fingers.

"You must be Margaret! I'm Peter," The skin around his eyes folded over and disappeared behind a wide mouthed grin that was so large it took up the majority of his face.

"Hi! It's nice to meet you, but it's _Maggie_, actually." I tried to match his grin and the easy manner with which he carried himself, but _no dice_. I was as tense as they come. He seemed to sense my unease because he patted me on the back gently. It reminded me of something my father would do.

"My apologies, _Maggie_." He did a theatrical bow, and that alone made the tension between my shoulders dissipate. I let out a chuckle and followed him to his office.

"So, this is Twin Oaks. We're an assisted living facility, pretty small, as you can tell. We don't get much in the way of business, so to speak, or visitors, unfortunately. Which is why I was ecstatic when I got your mother's call. We can't really pay you, and some of the residents are pretty grouchy, but I think that's more because they don't really get visitors, so many of them have been forgotten." Peter explains as he leads me into his office. He ciphers through a few drawers as he speaks, he gestures for me to take a seat.

I feel a sad pang rattle around in my ribcage, what would it feel like to be forgotten?

Large filing cabinets cover the walls, stacks of papers are scattered haphazardously across his desk. He riffles through a filing cabinet until he finds what he's looking for. He pulls out a manila folder and pushes a few stacks of papers to the side with his elbow clearing a space on his desk for the folder he plops down. He takes a seat at his desk and pulls out a pen. He looks at me thoughtfully for a moment, resting his head in his hands.

"All of those things considered, are you still interested?"

I nod emphatically, and for a moment it's like I've forgotten how to speak. "Yes, _of course_."

"Marvelous," He beams and opens up the folder, he pulls out a few stapled sheets of paper and scans them over before speaking again, "You can take this home and read it over if you want, it's basically a list of all the things you might be required to do. But don't worry, it's pretty low maintenance. You'll make the occasional bed, call out a few bingo numbers here and there."

He hands me the paper, but I don't have very much time to look it over, he pulls out another sheet of paper and hands it to me.

"These are the volunteer hours, we have another volunteer, Katie, uh her mom is the secretary here actually. She usually does nights, but occasionally comes in on the weekends. Wonderful girl, I'm sure you'll get along great. Anyways, you just fill out your availability and bring it back to us when you've got it all figured out. It's pretty low commitment so if you can only come once a week that's fine too."

I bob my head along with Peter's words, trying my best to pay attention. I feel anticipation swell in my stomach, I clutch at the plush seat eagerly.

"Hmm, I think that's everything," Peter taps a pen to his chin a few times as he looks around absently, "Oh! You'll need a shirt."

Peter travels over to one of the large filing cabinets and pulls out a stack of shirts. He trifles through the light blue polos before landing on one he was seemingly satisfied with.

"We have all of the staff wear these, it was Katie's idea. She likes things to be uniform. And depending on how often you plan on volunteering we can get you another one if you need it." He hands the shirt over to me and plops down on the side of desk.

"I know that was probably a lot of information, but don't worry. This is probably the most stressful part of the whole process, anyways. But, now you should be good to go. Bring that back when you're ready and we can get you put on the schedule. But like I said it's really low commitment so if there's a day you can't make it, don't worry about it. Just text me and we'll get it squared away." Peter connects his fingertips together again and offers me one of his too wide smiles.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding in and offer him a smile of my own. "Thank you so much!"

Peter shakes my hand again, his low voice echoes throughout his office, "I hope you come to enjoy your time here, Maggie."

* * *

When I get home from Twin Oaks my mother's car isn't in the driveway, I head inside and everything is perfectly still around me. So different from Emily's house, every crevice was lived in, warmth pressed against you and ambient chatter clung to your skin and you just _knew_ -

You didn't have to be alone here, _here_ you were a part of something bigger.

I drop my bag off by the front door, and pull off my jacket in one fell swoop. I head into the kitchen and resting neatly on top of the glossy oak table is a note, from my mother no doubt. The magnificent loop of her handwriting brings a smile to my lips.

_I work late, so don't be afraid to go over to Emily's if you're lonely. Money on the counter for dinner. Love you. _

A small frown works its way onto my lips, and I can't fight the crease that makes its home perpetually in between my brows._ I really do try though._

I grab my freshly discarded jacket from off my bag and head out the door. _Go back,_ my brain demands, but I don't feel like going home to an empty house.

When mom told me we were moving to Washington I knew she was probably going to have to go back to nights. In fact she'd even told me yesterday. I_ knew_ this was going to happen, so, I don't know why I feel the hot press of anger twisting traitorously in my stomach.

I pull my jacket tighter around me, to just feel something. To calm the oh so deliberate beating of my heart. I don't know where I plan on going, definitely not Emily's. I push the front door open and stand on the porch for a minute. The ground is soggy from this morning's rain, and the clouds spill across the sky in swollen masses of cotton that could burst at the slightest provocation.

Thunder splits the sky ominously but I bound down the steps of the porch anyways, I don't care if it rains, in fact, I _will _it to rain. Anything to keep my mind off of the fury tangled in my belly. I press onward through the thicket of trees and bushes.

I stomp angrily through the wood, and each branch that snaps beneath my foot is a lovely off beat to the melody of ruining I leave behind. How good it feels to be able to break things without even really trying. The golden leaves rustle lethargically in the breeze.

The wind whistles through the tangled locks of my hair and I have to hold it to the side so I can see where I am going. The strands tickle my cheeks and the smell of damp earth surrounds me.

Thunder breaks the sky in two and foolishly my heart believes I could float away at any moment.

The trees burst from the ground never in fear of being whisked away because they were so deeply tethered to this earth, and I think of Sam and Emily. Their love, and how nothing in the whole world could tear them apart, because they were entwined together, _rooted._

Then I think of my mother. Who's trying so hard to hold on but keeps slipping. And I'm no better. I can't help but compare us to the leaves that sleep on the floor bed. All it took was a single breeze and nothing was keeping them here. Would that happen to us?

One good wind and then _gone?_

Despite myself Paul's words come back to me -

_Sometimes I feel like I'm floating, and there's nothing really keeping me here. Like, yeah, it's gravity. But I have this sinking feeling that one day it won't be enough. _

He'd asked me if I knew what he meant, and I wasn't entirely sure then, but, I do now. I know what it feels like to be floating.

Thunder bangs its ugly drum and all of my anger dissipates. I couldn't be upset at my mother, it was stupid to get so worked up in the first place. With that realization dawning on me I decide to head home. It takes me longer than it probably should, but I don't pull out Google Maps so I consider it a win regardless.

My phone buzzes to life in my hand and at first I think the vibrations belong to my cruel and unforgiving tic. My phone pulses uncomfortably in my hand, I look down at the screen. _Unknown caller. _I trudge through the clearing and up the porch steps.

Answer it? Don't answer it? Answer it? Don't answer it? Answ –

I slide my finger across the answer button despite my racing heart; _it's just a phone call, Maggie. Jeesh,_ "Hello?"

"Hey, it's Kim," Kim's smooth voice filters out from the speaker and my heart calms immediately, I pull open the door and kick off my muddy shoes, and shrug off my jacket with my phone pressed tightly in between my cheek and shoulder.

"And Claire, say Claire too!" Vaguely I can hear Claire's unmistakable voice in the background and that alone makes me smile.

"And Claire, here I'm just going to put it on speaker," Kim replies and almost instantly I can hear Claire's heavy breathing, "We were uh wondering if -"

Without warning Claire's voice bursts through the receiver and I almost drop my phone, "Come to the movies with us!"

"Claire!" Kim admonishes and I could so clearly see these two girls sitting somewhere bantering away like they had at lunch. My heart flutters at that, I met them yesterday but it's like we've been friends for years.

"What? You were taking too long!" Almost as if they were next to me I could see Claire's noncommittal shrug. That was the best thing about Claire; she was completely unafraid to be herself.

"Well, anyways, we wanted to know if you'd come to the movies with us?" Kim's voice is soft now, and I wonder if she's doing that for my benefit. It was close to five, my episode in the forest had ate a good chunk of homework time, and if I went to the movies tonight the likelihood of me getting anything done now was next to none.

Claire could be heard in the back making mock puppy dog noises, and that alone almost had me. After a second of deliberating I make up my mind, "What's playing?"

"We have no idea! But I've got a ten pound bag of twizzlers!" Claire singsongs, and in my mind I could see the crazed look in her eyes as she said the word twizzlers, that alone made me laugh. "We'll just need to figure out how to make me look pregnant..."

"Claire," Kim deadpanned through the receiver.

"Kimney," Claire shot back.

"Oh uh sure, that'd be fine. How late will we be? I'll need to let my mom know." I explain heading to the kitchen, I find the note my mother had so carefully left me and flip it over.

"9 at the latest." Kim assures me.

"What? 9? My grandma stays out later than that!" Claire's voice once again cut through the receiver so loudly I have to hold the phone away from my ear for a moment.

"It's a school night Claire." Kim chides.

"Oh, right."

I scribble out a quick note, and then cap the pen, "Okay, cool. This'll be fun."

"Great, we're outside your house." Claire proclaims and I balk, _already_? I take a peek at my wrinkled dirty clothes. I had hoped to change and run a brush through my tangled hair.

"Claire!" Kim admonishes.

"What? We knew she was going to say yes."

"No, we _hoped_ she would say yes."

"Call it what you want, the fact of the matter is, I still don't know how we're going to sneak in this 10 pound bag of twizzlers."

"I have to change do you guys want to come in?" I blurt out quickly before Claire could get lost on a tangent.

"No that's okay -"

"Oh my god yes!"

Claire and Kim spoke in unison, after a moment of indiscernible bickering I once again cut through, "The front door is unlocked."

I click end call and head to the front porch; sure enough Kim's silver car was parked in the driveway. Almost instantly Claire climbed out of the vehicle waving relentlessly, a wide open mouthed smile plastered onto her cheeks. She was now sporting a pair of tie dye pajamas pants and a pink state tennis sweatshirt.

Kim switched off the ignition and popped out of the car. Her hair was braided loosely and she was sporting khakis and a button down shirt. She dusted off her cardigan as the two climbed up the steps.

"Maggie Bowen!" Claire engulfs me in a huge and squeals. I don't have the energy to be annoyed. It was nice to feel wanted.

"Are you guys thirsty or anything?" I ask sheepishly, as I lead the two girls into the house. Kim shakes her head politely, and Claire surges ahead of me.

"So, this is your dwelling, huh Maggie Bowen?" Claire asks curiously as she takes a look around.

"I suppose it is." We'd moved here only a few days ago, it was still hard to see this place as home, but that's what it was now. Claire stood in the middle of the living room arms spread wide. She titled her head back and held her eyes shut tightly. "What are you doing?" I ask cautiously, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"I'm reading the room," Claire responds as if it were obvious, all the while she keeps her eyes closed and head tilted back.

"She thinks she's like a psychic or something, because she took a fifteen minute course online and bought some tarot cards." Kim chimes in from behind me. She lingers in the foyer, head resting against the wall, arms tightly wrapped around herself. Her smile suggests she's at ease but her posture insists something entirely different.

Claire doesn't miss a beat, "And because my aunt Randy let me use her crystal ball one time." I laugh at that. Her arms drop to her side and she looks at me, a wicked spark of mischief dances in her gray eyes. "Can we see your room?"

"Claire, no, that's weird." Kim berates while shaking her head furiously and rolling her eyes.

"No it's not!" Claire grumbles, "You really get to know someone through their room. Like my ex-boyfriend for example! He was obsessed with dolls. Like actually, I would never have known that if I hadn't snuck into his room during spring break."

"Oh my god, Claire." Kim pinches the bridge of her nose and I can't suppress the laugh bubbling up inside of me.

"Haha, its okay Kim. But, my room is kinda messy though, so I doubt you'd want to see it Claire." I offer apologetically, I would have brought her up there but my mind goes to the insane amount of drawings I had littering my bedroom floor. All of Paul. I hadn't gotten around to throwing them away and I'd be mortified if they knew.

"I don't mind!" Claire insists.

"How about next time you come over I'll give you the grand tour? Not everything's entirely settled." I offer, and Claire begrudgingly bobs her head. She plops down on the couch and pulls out a twizzler.

"You can come sit down Kim; I'll just be a minute." I send Kim what I hope is an Emily smile; she replies in kind and carefully treads into the living room.

I proceed upstairs to change; I grab a fresh sweater from my closet and pull it on over my crumpled t-shirt. I head back down to the living room while running a hand through my tangled hair. "Ready!"

* * *

Claire snuck in her twizzlers without any of the employee's catching her, but she then proceeded to buy an obscene amount of snacks. The movie we saw was the sequel to an action movie I couldn't remember the name of.

"I'm so excited," Claire squealed, and Kim eyed her warily. "The first movie was so good!"

We sat through the trailers with the occasional comment from Claire; no one seemed to mind since the actual movie hadn't started playing yet. I figured she'd watch silently once it did, but Claire kept up her banter. Explaining things as they appeared on screen.

"Shh!" Somebody hissed from behind us. I thought Claire was going to twist in her seat and cause a scene but she did something worse.

"Maggie Bowen! Shhh, these people are trying to watch their movie." I felt my face flush and I sunk lower in my seat. She gave me a mischievous grin and Kim rolled her eyes playfully.

"I didn't even say anything!" I whined, and Claire turned her large eyes on me shaking her head impishly.

"You're causing a scene, just be quiet Maggie Bowen."

"You're a menace," Kim elbows Claire playfully and her only response is a wicked grin.

I huffed loudly, crossing my arms over my chest in mock annoyance. I wasn't really angry though, I couldn't remember the last time someone had teased me on purpose.

Kim ended up falling asleep halfway through the movie, but Claire watched with enough enthusiasm for all three of us. I wasn't super enthralled with the plot but I made it to the end in one piece.

"I can't believe it! God, I knew they were going to end up together the whole time, don't get me wrong. But like! I can't believe it. I just… god!" Claire blubbered as we left the theater, the movie had ended with an epic power ballad and a dip kiss between the protagonist and the antagonist, but for some reason Claire had tears streaming down her cheeks.

"I thought you liked the movie." I ventured carefully and Claire turned her large tearful eyes on me.

"I do!" She swore seriously.

Despite myself I couldn't fight the chuckle that slipped past my lips, _I really do try though_, "Then why are you crying?"

"These are tears of love, and happiness Maggie Bowen. It just ended so perfectly," She wails, wiping her eyes furiously. Tears still spilled down her cheeks, but I wasn't at all surprised to see through all of her crying she still had the will to pull out a twizzler and chew on it mercilessly.

"Claire cries when she's happy," Kim chimes in from beside me, "and when she's sad, or angry, or confused."

"And when I'm hungry." She declares through bites of twizzler. Claire then loops her arms in ours, a spectacular show of togetherness. It was a simple gesture but nothing in the whole world could have stolen that beaming grin from my lips.

When we reach Kim's car, Claire immediately sprawls out in the back seat leaving me to sit up front.

"I'm exhausted," Kim yawns from the driver's side and Claire perks up at that.

"You know what this means?" She cries excitedly, "music!"

Claire reaches from the backseat to switch on the radio, pop music blares loudly through the speakers and Kim suppresses a smile. Claire doesn't even try to sing along, instead she belts the words out at her own pace. They aren't even remotely in time but she's having so much fun that they don't have to be. And to my never ending surprise Kim joins in.

I watch the two girls for a moment, Claire uses her phone as a microphone and holds it out to me, I know she's waiting for me to join in. I have never been comfortable enough to scream along to a pop anthem anywhere but the confines of my own bedroom.

I was not a pretty singer, but neither were Kim and Claire. Yet, they valiantly sang along anyways. Could I be brave like them? Was I willing to let them see the parts of me that weren't so neat and perfect?

_Yes_, yes I was.

I lean forward and the words that leap from my lips are a cry, a grand entrance, a hello to a life of belonging. I shriek the words into Claire's impromptu microphone and Kim breaks out into a huge grin. For the first time in a really long time I don't feel like I'm watching everything happen around me. _Finally_, I feel like I'm a part of it.


	6. this woodland won't listen

**A/N: This is not a drill folks, it's **_**happening**_**. **

**this woodland won't listen**

"_touch comes before sight, before speech. It is the first language and the last, and it always tells the truth."_

Margaret Atwood

Light spills across the sky in a rare show of affection from the sun, it was no surprise that everyone was taking this opportunity to eat lunch outside. Sam's _friends_ occupied one of the largest benches. The boys took turns sticking their fingers in the holes and laughing irrepressibly when their large tan digits got stuck.

They were existing solely in their own world. Hooting and tossing food, unaware of the wary eyes that followed them. All except one, _Paul_. Who seemed to perpetually linger on the edge of irrational fury. Every encounter I've had with him, save for that strange, and faded first night, had been short and angry.

Paul leans against the table, head bent low. He fumbles with a blue hacky sack, tossing it back in fourth. Not for the first time I wonder what's he's thinking. His eyes are so dark and closed off sometimes. I think of what my mother said, how they'd all gone through difficult things.

I was no stranger to messy, to hard, _impossible_ things. Maybe he wasn't either, my heart beat harder at that and despite myself, I feel the ever pressing urge to get closer. _One step, _my heart begged, _just one step closer, please. _

Instead I dug my fingers into the wet earth, just to be still. To make sure my stupid legs didn't try and betray me. For the first time since I started school here, I was alone. Kim had a band lesson, and Claire was doing something for the yearbook. Leaving me to sit beneath a tall oak tree that shot upwards forever reaching for the sky.

Unable to help myself I train my eyes back on Paul. Who seems so separated from the rest of them. Was he still going through his messy impossible thing?

My fingers twitched irritatingly, I've come to ignore it the past few days. They always seemed to flare up at the sight of Paul. However, this time was different. That telltale burning wound its way through my veins, and I rapidly open and closed my hand. Just to do something. To pretend I still had some kind of control.

_Please stop, _I wanted to scream, _not now, not now, not now. _

But my tic didn't really care that I was at school, or eating lunch. It wanted what it wanted, and I've always been too weak to deny it.

I fumble for my sketchbook which was buried at the bottom of my bag, I flip it open and cringe at the stupid messy drawing's I'd been working on earlier. Paul's dark eyes haunted my dreams and my sketchbook, _always wrong_. I haven't drawn the wolf since we moved here, a hollow sadness rattled around in my ribcage.

Part of me had grown to associate that wolf as some stupid metaphor for my father. I figured it had to be him somehow, now I am starting to wonder if maybe it was just a wolf.

The burning isn't as bad as it usually is, so I take my time working out the scene in front of me. His large hunched up shoulders are impossible to draw, I erase more than anything, but slowly it starts to look like him. A gross outline.

And in this moment I wish I could do more than that. More than a sketchy silhouette of an almost person.

Paul's head hung low, weighed down. Despite each sharp inhale and the constant call of _up_, gravity was still working its magic.

His head rose, slowly, _so slowly_, and I knew even before he turned that his eyes would land on me. And there I would be. Lying in wait. _Always_.

"Why are you drawing Paul Lahote?" My heart took off at a break-neck pace and my pencil skidded off the page, I clutched at my chest and turned to see an anxious looking Kim hovering above me. Claire plopped down next to me, leaning in to see my drawings.

If I had been embarrassed when I thought Paul might have caught me staring this was nothing compared to that, I felt my breath catch and I couldn't even stutter out a reply. My entire face was on fire and I wanted the world to swallow me whole.

"Oh, Maggie Bowen," Claire whispered solemnly, rubbing a hand over my knee soothingly. I wanted to give them a perfect fake smile and say that it was for a class, or that I was just practicing likeness, but the entire page was covered. There was no hiding.

"I-I was just…" I trail off trying to think of something feasible.

Kim takes a seat next to me and reaches a gentle arm across my shoulders, "He isn't exactly known for his relationship skills, if you're picking up what I'm putting down."

"Yeah, he's a man whore." Claire shrugs, and Kim shoots her a look.

"What? I am not going to lie to her Kim. She should know the truth." Claire's voice comes out hard and heavy. The two girls stare at each other for a moment. The tension in the air is palpable, and oh how I wanted to disappear_. Please don't fight over me_, my heart pleaded. _I am not worth it. _

"It's a new girl every week for him." Kim sighs, her fingertips trail across my shoulders, the whisper of skin on cloth and I feel the ghost of her touch on my shoulder. Shivers run down my spine and I fight the urge to pull away.

"It's not really like that." I blurt out. But, I don't really know what it _is_ like. What does it means when you draw somebody obsessively? Was I in love with him? Definitely not. Did I find him attractive? Maybe.

But this wasn't about _that_, it was this strange connection, or pull I'd felt towards him. To always want to be closer, to just _try _and put those eyes on paper. Even if I never get it right.

"But like, it's okay, Maggie, if it is like that." Claire's large doe eyes meet mine and I feel the heavy press of affection in my heart for her.

"Yeah, we're not here to judge you." Kim utters from beside me, her voice is soft and the words that tumble from her lips are just as flowing and weightless as the rest of her, "We just want to protect you."

"Yeah, he's got a _reputation_." Claire whispers and her nose scrunches in tandem with her eyebrows as she speaks, "He's grumpy as heck, but, I think he might just have a lot going on. Still, definitely not something you want to get tangled up in.

Their concern was heartwarming. It was nice to feel cared about. I knew I had to tell them the truth. Or at least a heavily modified version of it. Maybe I'd be brave enough to tell them the full truth someday but we were taking baby steps here.

"I promise you guys, it isn't like that. Sometimes I just get this itch and I have to draw. I have to get something down on paper or it drives me crazy. It's kind of like a tic, or something. It focuses in on one thing, it's completely random and I can't control it." There, that was my truth. "Which is why I was drawing Paul. No strange unrealistic fantasies happening over here." I chuckle, and I try to make my voice light. Kim studies me for a moment, but nods her head as if to accept my answer.

Claire's eyes light up at that, "Oh Kim has something like that; girl goes ballistic if she loses her planner. It's funny for like five minutes and then it's just kinda sad."

Kim scowls playfully, "Hey, that was mean."

"Sorry, Kimsie, it's the truth." Claire shrugs and sticks her tongue out at the other girl. It makes me laugh and I feel like the worst is over.

"Anyways, all that is to say, guard your heart well," Kim sends me a sincere smile as she pulls her arm back. Her hands fall limply into her lap.

"Yeah, know it's worth, if someone wants it for two dove chocolate bars but you know it's definitely worth three, sis, _you walk away_." Claire bites out furiously, part of me knows she's joking but there's another part of me that really couldn't be sure. It was hard to imagine someone angrily yelling about candy bars before I met Claire.

"Thank you guys, but no worries." I give them what I hope is my best Emily smile, and snap my sketchbook shut. I tap a clenched hand to my chest, "My heart is a steel cage." And it was true.

"So how was your band lesson?" I turn to Kim and she visibly pales at that.

"I have a recital coming up and I am definitely not ready, I've just been so distracted lately." She chews nervously on her bottom lip, and I feel bad. I hadn't meant to dredge up anything murky.

"Aw, Kimmy, don't worry about it! You're great, and you'll pull it together like you always do." Claire shrugs nonchalantly before chewing on a twizzler, I don't even blink at that. I hadn't even seen her pull it out, but Claire was always eating some type of candy. She turns to me, "She's been playing piano for like twelve years, she's too humble to say it but she's amazing."

"I bet Kim _is _amazing, there's like nothing you can't do." I agree sheepishly, "But it's completely normal to be nervous about something like this. You want to do well. It means you care, and that can never be a bad thing." Kim's lips quirk up at that, it's not a beaming smile that takes up all of her face, but it doesn't have to be. She's leans her head onto my shoulder and it's my turn to rest an arm around her.

"Wow, that was good. I'll have to steal that." Claire declares loudly before uncapping a pen and scrawling my words along her tanned skin, "Maybe put it on a greeting card, do you think Hallmark is hiring?" She utters that last part to herself but Kim and I laugh all the same.

"So, the yearbook is going to be disastrous. Turns out freshman can't spell, which is just like, okay annoying. Ugh, I am so glad the bonfire is tonight. I need to let loose." Claire cries exasperatedly, and then Kim perks up at that.

She turns to me, eyes wide, "You should come! To the bonfire tonight, you could meet some more kids in our grade, and we can like present you to society, Jane Austen style!"

"Kimmantha, that's a great idea, minus the Jane Austen part." Claire agrees from beside me.

"There's a bonfire? In the middle of the week? It's a school night, though." I ask, scandalized. I'd never been to a bonfire so I didn't know what to expect, all my experience had been trashy YA novels where kids get drunk on the beach.

Claire groaned loudly before hanging her head in her hands, "You sound like Kimney, Maggie Bowen,"

Kim rolls her eyes at Claire's statement but turns to me, "We have them every Wednesday. They used to be large and ridiculous but now it's just a few of us. And you can go home whenever you want. Claire and I used to just go for the desserts."

"Will there be like _alcohol_?" I whisper worriedly as if the word itself could summon Mrs. Bailey, who was all too pleased to hand out detentions whenever she could. Claire bursts into a fit of hysterics at that, Kim is at least kind enough to hide her chuckle with her hand.

"No, definitely not. It's not that kind of bonfire." Kim says gently, and for my part I relax considerably at that.

Claire who's finally recovered chimes in from beside me, "Yeah, it's like a congratulations you've made it half-way through the week pick me up kind of thing. Even Kimmen, here, who loves school, needs it! That or she just uses it as an excuse to see Jared."

I turn to Kim whose face is beat red, she buries her head in her hand at Claire's merciless teasing, she grumbles and the words come out muffled from behind her hands, "Oh my god! I do not!"

"Jared, like Jared Cameron?" I ask curiously, I think back to the day I'd met Sam's friends and how Jared had confidently claimed that Kim would one day be his girlfriend with a certainty that floored me.

"Er, yeah why?" Kim squeaks out, she parts her fingers only enough to reveal her large curious eyes.

"I'm pretty sure he mentioned you at breakfast like a week ago." I grin, and Claire lets out a squeal from beside me and sinks lowers against the tree. She was very clearly invested in Kim's potential relationship.

Kim removes her hand and trains serious eyes on me, her face is perfectly smooth as she chokes out, "Oh my god, he did? What did he say? Tell me everything!"

Claire picks herself up from the ground , "Oh boy, Kimbob has been in love with Jared Cameron since we were like four. And he's _finally _noticing her!" Claire sing-songs and Kim rubs her shoulders abashedly.

"Ha, well I think the feelings are mutual." I reply smugly, "Because he called you his super hot girlfriend." Claire let out a hybrid squeal giggle.

"What! He thinks I am hot? And his girlfriend?" Kim sighed dreamily. Claire's excitement was infectious, I had to bite back a squeal.

"Yes! The guys were teasing him about you. They were all like, _she's not your girlfriend yet_." I lowered my voice mockingly in what I thought was a pretty good imitation of the boys, "And with the straightest face in the entire world he was like, _yeah well she will be._ And he meant _it_, it was like the most sincere thing I've ever heard in my life."

Kim bobbed her head along enthusiastically, a large closed mouth smile spread across her cheeks and nothing could have stolen it. Claire was bursting with enthusiasm; she shrieked into her hands and jumped a little.

"Wow! Calm down Claire, you're going to have a heart attack." I chuckle but I can't fight the smile pressed into my skin any more than she can.

"This is not a drill. This is not a drill! Kimmy's gonna get a boyfriend!"

* * *

Lunch had ended on a glorious note, Kim was dazed, and Claire was ecstatic. She spoke a mile a minute. It was hard to understand her at times but I think I heard the words, five-year-plan and wedding. Needless to say it was hard to settle down in class afterwards.

By the time the bell rang for our last class I was a little worried, Claire usually walked me to the art room because we had it together, but she was scheduled to take some candid pictures for the yearbook. So, I was left raking my brain trying to remember the way. The path had been long and convoluted. I think we'd even went down a flight of stairs at one point.

I followed the flood of people through the hallways, I fixated my attention on the numbers engraved on the plaques that hung by each classroom. Somehow I got turned around and ended up going down the wrong hallway; I was most definitely going to be late. I felt anxiety coil in my stomach at that revelation.

I turned down another hallway, clutching my sketchbook and my class schedule to my chest intensely. Panic laced each step; I felt the burning in the back of my eyes that was always followed by the incessant stream of tears. I tried my best to force my hysteria down; it wasn't like I was legitimately lost. And no one could truly be mad at me; I was still trying to figure out where everything was.

There was really no reason to get so worked up.

Fear pierces my heart, anyways. I clutch at my sketchbook tighter, the tips of my fingertips turned white from the pressure I was exuding. In typical graceful Maggie Bowen fashion I run straight into something, my sketchbook flies out of my hand and I land on my butt. My eyes land on those barely there sneakers and my heart plummets. I feel the heat spreading from the tips of my toes to the top of my head.

"Holy shit, watch where you're going. Jesus." His voice comes out in a low hiss, and I want the world to swallow me up. Tears prick at my eyes and I don't have the strength to force them away anymore. "Freshman, always in a goddamn hurry."

I scramble to pick up my sketchbook, and the loose paper doodles that had escaped from it's confines. My heart beats rapidly as I reach trembling hands to gather my things. My heart stops when he bends down to pick up my sketchbook and it falls open to the last page.

"What the hell, is this me?" He flips through a few pages and I am actually crying now, because the worst thing in the entire world has just happened. Not only had my friends caught me during lunch but now Paul had as well. I would soon be labeled the creepy new girl that drew people without their permission. Would Claire and Kim still want to be friends with me? My tears fell harder at that thought.

"Oh my god." I gasped in between sobs, I lower my head in shame, and clutched at my chest.

I expect a slew of insults, or to be called out on how strange it was to draw somebody without their permission, but he lets out a low hum and settles on, "Hmm, the eyes are wrong."

_I know, _I want to say. _Always the eyes are wrong. _Instead I choke at that, and keep my vision perfectly trained on the marble floor beneath me. "U-uh, okay."

"Fuck, are you crying?" He gasps, as if finally noticing me. I could imagine his beautiful dark eyes trained on me. How pathetic I must look.

"No, I-I'm not crying." I breathe out and I try to make it sound bold and brave, but it's hard to pretend to be bold and brave when you can't even look at the person you're speaking to.

Large fingertips hovered precariously beneath my chin before finally pulling my chin up to meet those dark, and devastating eyes. My breath hitches at the hesitation in his fingertips. His touch burns, and I don't know how much that has to do with my furnace of a face or his large calloused hands. I wanted to recoil immediately but something strange lingers in his eyes.

It freezes me in place.

I don't know how long we sit there, eyes interlocked. It could have been minutes, it could have been days. A selfish greedy parted of me wanted it to last forever, this perpetually frozen moment of awareness, of finally being seen. I wanted him to look at me, and _keep looking_.

But I have never been that kind of brave.


	7. in the lovely dark

**A/N: I meant to get this out sooner so you get a long one! I thought I had a very specific idea of what I wanted and how I wanted this chapter to go but then I just kept adding and **_**adding. **_**I have no self-control. This chapter like officially introduces Paul. I've had their dialogue planned out for weeks now, so it feels super good to finally be here. Our characters have finally made contact, this is not a drill folks.**

**No beta so all mistakes are mine. :P**

**in the lovely dark **

"_Oh, but you must travel through those woods again and again. And you must be lucky to avoid the wolf every time. But the wolf. The wolf only needs enough luck to find you once."_

Emily Carroll

"Alright honey! Be _safe_," My mother calls from the porch, a fuzzy bathrobe hangs limply around her floral pajamas. She flicks the porch light on and retreats back into the house. I turn to Claire and Kim who are pressed against Kim's car, no doubt waiting for me and my overzealous mother.

I flash them a bright and honest smile, I was really hesitant about coming tonight. Especially after the day I had, but, I figured Claire was right, and that I needed to distress.

"Are you ready to get your freak on?" Claire sing songs, shimmying her shoulders in tandem with her words. I flail my arms out and shush her hastily. She shoots me a confused look, and Kim rolls her eyes.

"Look, Claire, you know you're joking. I know you're joking. But my mother does _not_ know you're joking. She was already on the fence because it's a school night, so maybe keep the crazy contained until we get in the car."

For her part Claire presses a hand to heart, "Well, I _never _Maggie Bowen!"

We shuffle into Kim's car, Claire once again takes the backseat. She splays out nonchalantly, resting against the door. Her sandal clad feet press against the opposite window.

After much debate about what station we listen to and whether or not it was truly quintessential for Claire to wear a seatbelt we make it to the beach in one piece. It's a relatively short drive. I was a little on edge, I had no idea what to expect. All I knew was that Kim and Claire promised there would be no alcohol and lots of desserts.

I am relieved to find that Kim's car is one of the very few parked in the lot. Claire is the first one out, and she bounces antsily from foot to foot. I know she longs to run ahead and check out the snack table, but she waits for Kim and I all the same.

They lead me down a well-worn path, and for a moment I wonder how many people have stood where we stood to be delivered to the same underwhelming murky grey-brown sand. My feet sink into the earth with each step; and I am glad I had foregone the fashionable sandals my mother had tried to press into my hands. The sand was more like mud and stuck to the bottom of your shoes relentlessly trying to pull you down with it. A little less violent than quicksand.

They lead me to an array of hastily folded out tables that sink low into earth. A chaotic range of treats sit precariously on the wobbly tables.

Claire makes quick work of scanning it and picking out the ones she thinks our worthwhile. A multitude of teenagers are milling about sipping from plastic water bottles and munching on various snacks. I recognize some faces from school but most are a blur of band t-shirt's and bronze skin.

"Claire's down for the count right now, it might be a minute before we see her again," Kim laughs gesturing to Claire who was excitedly sampling different types of cookies, "I should introduce you to some people, c'mon," Kim chirps and loops her arm in mine.

In the grand scheme of thing's there really weren't that many teenagers loitering on the beach, and so the likelihood of me getting lost in the crowd was basically non-existent. Yet, I am immensely grateful for Kim all the same.

She drags me over to a small group of people; they all take turns introducing themselves. They were all in band with Kim. They take turns asking me questions about where I used to live, and what it was like in Minnesota. I forget all of their names about five minutes in. But then one of them tells a joke that flies right over my head, and they launch into a long-winded story about the origin. I fade into the background quite easily.

I'd honestly rather be sitting on one of the logs strewn across the shore watching the fire, or the ocean, but I can tell Kim's enjoying herself. When there's a slight lull in the conversation I tap her elbow, "I am going to go sit over there," I gesture to the fire. She gives me a searching look, and opens her mouth to say something. "You don't have to come with, stay and talk to your friends!"

Kim grimaces, "I don't want to leave you alone though, Maggie. I mean we brought you here, it'd be mean to ditch you." I can tell she doesn't want to leave her friends but she's nice enough she'd come sit with me if I'd asked.

"Aww, Kim! Don't think of it like that, you're not ditching me. If anything I am ditching you, and so that makes me the mean one." I wiggle my eyebrows playfully and she lets out a soft chuckle.

Finally she nods her head and says, "Okay, don't wander off though. I'll just be a minute." She turns back to her band friends and I wonder over to the roaring fire. Large chunks of tree circled the budding flames, only a few people lingered. There was a healthy mix of girls warming their hands, and guys throwing stick or rocks into the inferno.

I took a seat at one of the empty logs; I swipe my hand across the tough bark. Pieces of the tree and moss fall to the ground by my feet only to be promptly swallowed up by the soggy sand. A long half burnt stick rested next to my shoes. I picked up the cool side and buried the other side deep into the muddy earth. I began absently churning up large clumps of grey sand.

Heat emanates from the fire and presses hard against my face, it crackles in the moonlight. Guys whoop and holler, engaging in a playful competition to see how many embers they can provoke with random inanimate objects. I wince each time something lands in the fire. Maybe there wasn't alcohol but there were unsupervised teenage boy's playing with fire and that might as well be just as bad.

I continue my ministration with the stick, only pausing to cough when the wind would aimlessly blow the smoke in my direction. Claire looked to be organizing the table; and as proof of this I could faintly hear her booming voice shouting orders to the people nearby. Kim was still laughing with the group of people she'd introduced me to early. One of the girls, maybe Jane, or Jade said something and Kim threw her head back in undiluted glee.

It was nice to see them doing their own thing, even if I wasn't sure how I fit into it. I hadn't known them my whole life; I didn't have the same certainty that allowed them to venture so far from each other without fear. Because they knew they'd always find their way back. I didn't have that luxury, and I didn't know if I ever would. After all they had existed for so long without me, they could do so again.

I let the stick fall into the mud and hastily wipe the stray pieces of branch down the bottom of my shirt. I lean forward resting my head in my hands and breathe as deeply as I can. I ignore the sting of the cold air that burns its way up my nostrils. It's proof that I am here. That I would always have this moment.

"Hey, dude, what's with the eyebrow crease?" I jump at that and see a large bronze body blocking the fire, Jared. He pokes at my forehead like he'd done at breakfast on Sunday. How long ago that felt.

"Jared," I smile softly, forcing my features to be perfectly smooth.

"You mean your _best friend_ Jared, c'mon Maggie we talked about this." He exclaims holding his arms out in mock annoyance.

"Right," I breathe, and he studies me for a moment. "Oh! I bet you're looking for Kim."

Jared perks up at that, it makes my heart flutter. He breathes a dreamy sigh, staring past me at Kim in the distance. But then as if suddenly aware of my presence again he flashes me an apologetic smile, "We have dinner at Emily's every weekend, and you should totally come." I try to make my face perfectly still but he must sense something else there anyways, he hastily backtracks, "I mean I hope we didn't scare you off, it's your aunt's house after all. But, uh, catch you later, yeah?"

He claps me on the back of the shoulder, and jogs away. I watch as he slowly tip-toes behind Kim and then promptly pounces on her. She twists in his arms in alarm and when she realizes its Jared she relaxes immediately. His attack turns into a hug and Kim's band friends all exchange knowing looks. My heart swells at that.

And then my fingers start up their awful twitching. At this point I've basically come to accept that whenever they start burning something bad is sure to follow.

As if the universe could hear my inner monologue a loud low voice startles me from my musings. "Hey, freshie!" How do I respond? Well, naturally, I fall off the log I am sitting on._ Like actually fall off_, I am talking back in the muddy sand and feet in the air kinda thing. It was mortifying. Especially when I realized who that voice belonged too.

_Paul._

He comes jogging towards me, clad in ripped blue jean shorts and a sleeveless brown tank top. He sticks out a large tanned hand and without thinking I take it. A jolt of electricity shoots up my arm and immediately stills the burning. My breath catches in my throat as my eyes travel up the length of his forearm. Paul pulls me up from the ground and I begin hurriedly brushing off the clumps of sand sticking to my clothes. Heat rushes to my face and it has nothing to do with the fire in front of me.

"Wow, Freshie, falling for me already, huh? I thought I'd have to work for it but it turns out you're easy," He teases and I fight the urge to scowl. Out of every stupid thing that just came out of his mouth my brain latches onto the word _easy. _Kim and Claire's collective warnings resurface.

He definitely came over to mock me, whether that be for the drawings or not, I didn't know. One thing was solidified for me however, he was a _jerk. _I think back to that moment in the hallway and it makes me want to burry my face in my hands and never look back up again. _Aw, but if you don't look up you won't get to see Paul's calf muscles. _A voice in the back of my mind points out and I fight the urge to gag. What was wrong with me? _Calf muscles_?

I could determine my mental stability later, the only thing that mattered right now was getting away from Paul. In theory that seemed like a pretty easy task, but the beach was only so big and there were only so many hiding spots.

When I realize he's still looking at me expectantly with that same smug smirk I force my features into one of shock, "Hey, watch out!" Just as I desired Paul twists around in fear and I dart away.

I squeeze through the small crowd of people mumbling quiet apologies until I reach beautiful Claire whose face was pinched into one of disgust. Since we'd arrived her long flowing hair had been gathered into a large knot on the top of her head. Strands of hair dangled loosely around her face. She seemed to be very deep in thought. When she spotted me however the creases in her stunning face melt away immediately, "Maggie Bowen! Come to see the goods, yeah?" She gestures widely to the array of desserts in front of her.

"Okay, so basically, I've delegated myself to organize the snack table. Because no one ever does!" Her voice rises in pitch at that but she lets out a shaky breathe and calms herself down, "On this end we have our sugary stuff, and then it just kinda descends into the salty stuff. It's not easy work, but it's very important to me, you know?" She shoots a pointed look at a smaller boy who has his hands firmly tucked behind his back guiltily.

When Claire notices my skeptical expression she lets out a gaudy chuckle, "Ha! Sorry, this is Brady. He works on the yearbook with me. He's a fellow candy enthusiast but we don't always see eye to eye if you know what I mean." I nod along absently, all the while checking my peripherals for Paul.

"Hm, you seem distracted Maggie Bowen." Claire points out and I flick my attention back to her. She's studying me with her large rounded eyes.

I rub my arm nervously, "No, I am not distracted." I utter and then return to my apparently not so subtle peeking. When I see a flash of brown skin and closely cropped my hair my heart drops. I fall to my knees and crawl beneath the desert table. Not my finest moment, I must admit.

"You're so strange Maggie Bowen," I hear Claire ascertain to herself, "and people think I am weird." She mutters under her breath. I didn't have time to contemplate the ridiculousness of my actions. I was on a mission.

I crawl forward on my hands and knees, chewing on my bottom lip apprehensively. From my position on the ground I couldn't see above anyone's calves. Maybe nobody would notice me, or at least I hoped Paul wouldn't.

"Hiding from someone?" I let out a high squeal as my eyes settle on the boy in question's stupidly handsome face. I jump and hit my head on the table, and for a very long panicky moment it's dislodged from the clingy wet sand and my soul leaves my body. But it sinks back into the earth soon enough and I can relax a miniscule amount.

Paul's got one hand clutching the table, most likely for stability. He peeks at me through thick mischievous lashes. He's got a lopsided grin plastered to his cheeks and he runs a hand through his already messy hair.

"No, I am not!" I growl defensively before climbing out from underneath the table. The jig was up so to speak, but I was still trying to save face," I was looking for my contact." I give him a forced smile and awkwardly rest my hand against the unsteady white table.

"How'd you lose one contact?" Paul questions, while crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head to the side. "Under a table, no less?" He raises his eyebrows and I can tell it's not really a question. He doesn't believe me, not even a little bit. I once again have the feeling that he's making fun of me.

"I don't have to explain myself to you!" I force the words out from behind clenched teeth. Heat rises to my cheeks but for once it's not from embarrassment.

"Right," He breathes out, while tipping his head back slightly and narrowing his eyes. Subsequently his smirks deepens and I fight the urge to punch him in the face, or the chest, or anywhere.

"Anyways, nice chat!" I flash him a spectacularly fake display of teeth and duck around him. I squeeze back through the sea of people; I don't have time for half-murmured apologies. No one's listening anyways.

When I break free I scan the shore for somewhere else to hide. My eyes land on the wall of trees lingering so close, and so temptingly. Before I can talk myself out of it I am sprinting towards the foliage.

I only work my way a few feet into the woods, I definitely didn't want to get lost, I was just trying to hide from Paul. I bend over wheezing slightly. I swear, if the universe was trying to tell me to get in shape by sicking a cruel teenage boy after me the message was definitely received.

When I've mostly caught my breath back, I stand up straighter and rest a flat palm against a tree. The bark is coarse and uneven beneath my fingertips and when I take my hand away the faded almost imprint is pressed into my skin.

"So, you've been avoiding me." I once again let out a little squeak, my shoulders tense up and I turn around to see the very person I was working so hard to hide from. Couldn't he take a hint?

"Why are you following me?" I bite back my anxiety and look him directly in the eyes, I square my shoulders and try to make myself big. Paul dwarfs me without even trying and this makes me inexplicably angry.

"I just wanna talk." He says holding his hands out in warning, the mischievous glint in his eyes is gone, and for once his lips aren't propped up in a snarl or a smirk. They rest above his chin, I follow the curve of his neck down to his chest and my heart basically stops beating.

"Why?" I force myself to meet his eyes, "Are you going to make fun of me?" I snap defensively.

Paul opens his mouth to say something but I cut him off, "What happened earlier was just a _misunderstanding_! I am not like deranged or obsessed –"

"Whoa," Paul flexes his fingers, and holds his flat palms cautiously at his side. Almost like he was trying to reason with an animal, his lips tug up and I know he's going to say something dumb. "Freshie, you need to chill."

"I'm-m not a freshman." I insist hotly and he raises an eyebrow as if to question me. I search the damp soil for any sign of a stick that I could potentially use to chuck at his dumb face. I wish I had held onto the one by the fire. It would have been a formidable weapon.

"Right, so you're like a sophomore, then?" He flashes his teeth and I almost pick up a handful of rocks to lob at him but there was no way to make that look graceful.

"No, I am a _junior_." I bristle. He throws his head back and laughs at that. I chance another glance at the array of small pebbles. It would be so easy. My fingers start their twitching and I scowl at him.

"Anyways, I'm sorry for being an ass in the hallway. I guess you caught me in a bad mood." he smiles lopsidedly and cocks his head to the side. _Wolf, _my brain screams. But that's impossible.

"Oh, is that what that was?" I am surprised at the sharpness of my own words, but I knew if it wasn't anger that propelled me forward I would probably start crying again, and that would be mortifying. I didn't know how much more embarrassment I was capable of feeling today.

"Uh yeah…" he trails off, and for a moment I think that we're done, that he apologized for whatever he thought he needed to apologize for and that he's going to turn around and _leave_. That's what I wanted right, for him to be gone? I could picture his retreating figure so clearly, my heart beats severely at that, and despite myself my heart cries out, _Stay. _He forces out a chuckle and tries for humor, "Believe it or not, I don't apologize very often so this is a rare moment. Soak it in, girl."

_Girl, _my heart drops, did he even know my name?

"Wow, I am so honored." I huff the words out in a steady stream of sarcasm, I cross my arms and try to appear bigger than I am. But it's hard when Paul takes up so much space without even trying. I fixate on his large shoulder, anything to keep from getting lost in those stupid delightful black eyes. My fingers twitch subconsciously.

His face morphs into something like distaste; his dark tenor disrupts the silence. There's a familiar edge to his voice that sends me spiraling, "Listen there's a lot going on right now, and I literally just apologized so -"

"Perfect, apology accepted." I interrupt abruptly cutting him off. I didn't mean it but I didn't have to mean it, I just wanted him to leave. But also to stay. I don't know, it was all very confusing. Maybe I was the weirdo that drew him obsessively, but he had been scary and angry and I didn't have to accept his half-hearted apology because that was what was expected of me. _You should forgive him, _my heart pleads, _there's no reason for it, this anger. _

"Well, _jesus christ_, it doesn't feel like it." He grumbles under his breath while rubbing the back of his neck hastily. A silence rolls over us, something like storm clouds. Each exhale is a crack of thunder in the disastrous quiet encompassing us. I was feeling very conflicted, never before had I wanted to prolong and end something so badly at the same time.

Paul absently nudges a large rock back and forth with the tips of his ruined sneakers.

"Uhm, this has been a nice chat," _liar,_ my heart beats out, "but I think I'm going to head home now," I clasp my hands together in mock enthusiasm all the while inching farther away. I point behind me at a trail that leads deeper into the woods. _Yes, leave, _my brain screams. I didn't actually plan on leaving, I figured he'd finally get the message and be on his way. Then I could sit by a tree or something until he left.

I guess I was capable of doing everything short of actually using my words.

"What, no_, __stay_." His head shot up at that, the stone long forgotten. His words are soft and pleading. Full of that same uncertain longing. I hesitate for a moment, and I almost turn around and dig my heels into the wet earth. I almost meet his gaze, and stare at those dark and burning eyes, _almost_. But, I don't. _He called you easy_, my brain reasons. I latch onto those absurd words and I head a little deeper into the dense wood to really sell my point home. It's probably the bravest thing I've done all week. When he realizes I'm actually leaving he trails after of me, "Hell, do you even know the way?"

"Not really, but that's what this is for." I hold up my phone and he actually growls at that. The noise rumbling from his chest breaks my icy resolve and despite myself the corners of my lips tug upwards.

Paul catches up to me an instant, I shouldn't have been surprised. He's been exceptionally good at finding me all night. "Let me walk you home." He pleads, I peak at him through my peripherals and he's got his hands deeply buried into his short pockets. His head lolls to the side lethargically. Paul catches me peeking and sends me a large open-mouthed smile. My heart beats harder at that and I quickly look away.

"Uh, no thanks." I force the words out through clenched teeth, _please don't ask again, _I beg silently, _because you make me feel like I am going to spontaneously combust and I can't say no again. _

Paul's perfect smile falls off his lips and part of me is sorry for that. Then his face twists up into something angry, "I'll get you there faster than that stupid fucking demon box you've got there."

I scoff at his words and keep forcing my way through the woods, I hadn't mean to go this far, but I was not about to go back to the beach. "Glad to know you aren't just a jerk to people but to technology as well."

It's silent for a moment, and I wonder if he's actually going to give up and head back to the beach. I peek at him again and he rubs the back of his neck nervously, "Please, let me walk you home." He insists again. I melt.

What can I say? I am only so strong.

"Do what you want." I shrug; trying to sound uninterested. I had no idea how I was keeping it together right now, my legs felt like jelly. The earnestness that dances in his eyes sparks the furnace in my chest and I once again feel incredibly embarrassed. What did it mean when a boy wanted to walk you home? _Nothing, absolutely nothing._

So I guess I was really heading home, I make a promise to text Claire and Kim respectively when I get home to let them know I was safe. I'm sure they'd understand when I told them I was quite literally chased out by a big bad wolf of a boy

We walk side by side for a while; I press my hands firmly behind me, ignoring their brilliant twitching. I sneak quick glances at him. I don't allow myself to look long enough to make out anything but the large lop-sided grin plastered to his cheeks. It lights up his whole face and for a moment I can pretend I'd never seen his sharp edges, or heard the angry rumble of his words. I can pretend he hadn't seen any of my drawings and that we were just two teenagers taking a walk.

But then that stark moment of awareness on the linoleum hallway floor come spiraling back to me. Claire's words echo in my brain.

_He's messy, you don't want to get tangled in that._

It's perfectly quiet as we walk and it makes me nervous. Anxiety coils in my stomach as I try desperately to come up with something witty to say. Even now, under the protection of the forest I was still trying to impress him. I force one foot in front of the other cringing at the harsh crack of twigs that snap beneath my feet.

As we progress deeper into the forest I find myself wishing I'd put my foot down, that I'd just told Paul no, and that I had made him leave. Because at least than I could have been silent and alone. But the silence between two people who have nothing to say to each other is so much worse than anything else I could have imagined. I tap my fingers impatiently together, all the while feeling like I could jump out of my skin at any moment.

"So, what's your favorite color?" Startling me from my pity party I snap my head in his direction, I study him for a second trying desperately to decipher if he'd actually spoken or if in my panic induced thought process I may have made it up. He meets my gaze fearlessly and the intensity in his eyes alone forces me to look away.

Deciding that I wasn't crazy, I hesitate for a moment, maybe this was his idea of small talk? "Yellow, maybe brown." We fall back into that agonizing silence again. I'm not going to be able to deal with this the entire walk, or I will actually spontaneously combust and it won't be because his eyes are pretty. I turn on him, a rare moment of bravery, "Yours?"

"Green probably," He shrugs looking at the ground as we amble on, once again silence settles over us and I want to scream. I don't have to bare it for too longer however; he speaks up, saving me from my agony, "What were you for Halloween last year?

I rub my elbow subconsciously as I think on that,_ Halloween_? It wasn't my favorite holiday but I did like dressing up and handing out candy, could he guess that? It definitely wasn't a super popular trend for someone my age to wear costumes. Was it normal for teenagers to dress up for Halloween here?

I must have taken too long to answer because he looks at me panicked for a moment, he clears his throat and shrugs nonchalantly, "I mean, like if you don't -"

"I was a witch," I interrupt him before he can get too far into his tangent. I didn't want him to think I was judging him or something, after all I had an intense and alarming collection of drawings of him tucked away in my bedroom.

He mutters something under his breath that I can't quite comprehend and it sends a fresh wave of heat up my forearms and settles at the center of my face. I cross my arms and let out a huff, letting my hair serve as a curtain to hide from the boy beside me.

_It's a little late for hiding, _a part of me teases. I shoo it away and turn on him again, keeping my eyes glued to his sneakers. "What where _you_ for Halloween then?"

Paul chuckles at the accusation in my voice. He rubs the back of his neck and smiles up at me sheepishly, bearing his perfect teeth, "Wolf." I try to hide my surprise, but I suppose I don't do a good job because he grumbles, "like little red riding hood, yah know?"

I manage a small nod, and swallow hard as we continue our descent deeper into the woods. I hope he knows where he's going, because my phone battery was very low. And I wouldn't even be able to navigate my way home in the broad daylight let alone in this dark.

"Your turn." His words are soft and it takes me a moment to register that he's spoken again.

"Wha -"

I stall and without warning Paul surges ahead of me. When he notices, however, that I am no longer following he turns back to me, "I asked the last two questions, it's your turn. That's how a conversation works right?"

"Usually." I nod and we continue our walk, me trailing ever so slightly behind him. If I wasn't trying to think of some interesting question to make him think I was smart and witty I probably would have turned that into some metaphor about always being one step behind. I blow out a quick huff of air, surprised to see my breath in the darkness, before settling on_, _"What are you most scared of?"

"Asking the deep questions, huh? If I didn't know any better, freshie, I'd say you were trying to get to know me." He doesn't bother turning around, all I can really see is the dark silhouette of his shirt, and the white edged highlight of the moon bathing him in a kaleidoscope of grey's and whites. I don't need to be looking at him to picture the stupid smirk pressed into his skin.

"I'm not a freshamn!" I bark hastily and he raises his arms in mock surrender, slowly turning around to face me. "Look, this was _your _dumb idea, buddy." I grumble under my breath, pointing an accusing finger at him. He chuckles at my expense and I am filled with the inexplicable urge to attack him, and then I think about what touching him might do to me and I am embarrassed all over again.

"I'm not scared of anything." He insists, squaring his shoulders. A practiced answer, I would have believed him if he hadn't once told me otherwise himself. He keeps journeying through the forest knocking intense foliage out of the way. If we were in a movie it'd probably be heroic.

I scramble after him, "That's not true, you're scared of floating."

The words are out before I can stop them. If he didn't want to tell me now he probably had a good reason for denying it. He pauses without my noticing and I walk straight into him. He rears on me and suddenly I'm hyper aware of the space between us. For what feels like the first time, _I look at him_, and I mean really look. I drink in all of his crooked features.

Paul has a small scar carved into his forehead, and nobody in the world would have noticed if they weren't this close to him, then there's the heavy heave of his large shoulders, the deep set crease between his brows. How I longed to smooth it away. It would be so easy too, to reach up and press my fingertips to his dark skin. I grip the fabric of my shirt and ball it up into tight fists. I tell myself it's to distract from that cruel ache lingering in the tips of my fingers, but truly it's so I don't reach up and touch him.

His eyes are dark and low and _devastating_. His warm breath travels across my cheek, and while it's probably the least romantic thing in the world I want to close the distance between us. I want to press my ear against his chest and hear the angry drumming of his heart.

I wanted something that sturdy, that stable, that sure. _Closer. Just one step closer_. My heart pleads.

"What the fuck did you just say?" His voice settles on the forest floor and clings to the trees surrounding us, mist spills across the damp earth and it really could be something out of a movie. I should be scared. Big, angry man cornering you in the dark wood, and not to mention no one knows you're together. I think back to my first night here and how I thought he might have been a serial killer.

I know I should be scared, but my heart is a traitorous, finicky thing.

"F-floating. You told me the first night I came here. Gravity remember?" Even I can hear how unsteady my words sound, he watches me for a moment. Dark intense eyes locked on mine. Trying to read me, trying to remember, maybe? He tilts his head to the side and reveals perfect white canines, I swallow hard at that.

Barely there light filters in through the thick canopy above us bathing us both in the cool leftover glint of moonlight. I want the earth to split in two, to open up and take me with it. Better yet I want to fall right off the edge of the universe. Into some unimaginably dark abyss. If only he'd stop looking at me like that.

_No_, this is what I wanted. To be seen. Certainly I was being looked at now.

"I'm not scared of shit." his voice comes out hard and heavy. His face is schooled into a collection of tiny dark creases.

"Alright," I choke the words out and his eyes linger on me, his shoulders sag and the electricity that had rooted me so permanently to the ground moments before dissipated. "I won't tell anybody." He studies me for a moment and something indecipherable passes across his face. He lets out a low grunt and continues his ascent through the dark wood.

We fall once again back into that uneasy silence, and I wonder how long it'll be until we reach my house. I chance a quick glance up at the freckles of stars dotting the sky incessantly and wonder what I did to deserve this kind of torture. Because, _surely_, surely the universe was playing with me at this point. Today alone I had reached my embarrassment quota for the next decade.

"What was the last thing you dreamt about?" He asks, surprising me from my musings. I had rather thought we'd spend the duration of our journey in icy silence. A delirious chuckle escapes my lips, and I have to rain it in to keep from manically laughing. That would definitely scare him away.

Paul Lahote was truly an enigma. He went from yelling at you for accidentally unearthing trauma _he, himself, _told you about to asking about your dreams. It was doing my head in.

I thought over his question for a moment, realizing that the universe really was screwing with me. The last thing I had dreamt about _was_ Paul Lahote. I couldn't very well say that though. I could tell him about the wolf. I almost do but then I remember the playful lilt in his voice from earlier as he accused me of trying to get to know him.

I do my best Paul impression, pitching my voice low and scrunching my face up, "Paul Lahote are you trying to get to know me?" It elicits a bark of a chuckle that starts and finishes abruptly echoing through the dim forest.

"I guess I am." He responds sheepishly rubbing his neck, and the grin that spreads across my cheeks is irrepressible. An enigma indeed.

I am about to open my mouth again but then I notice the chipped burgundy paint of my house and the blinding yellow of the porch light. We make our way through the woods and end up in the clearing directly in front of my house. Bugs circle the light and I feel a tug of familiarity.

They flew around the light unaware of their imminent death, just wanting to be close to something that bright, to something that burning. I think back to Paul's dark eyes and his bright teeth and I wonder if that's what I was doing. That's when I really knew I needed to go to bed, I was comparing myself to bugs.

For the first time since Paul offered to walk me home I wonder how he knew the way, he'd only been to my house once and that was to help move everything in. Did he have that good of a memory?

Plus I had no clue where he lived, or any way of knowing if he lived anywhere near me. Did he know how to get home?

He walks me up the small wooden porch and pauses at the base of the stairs. The silence that descends over us now isn't awful, and itchy. I relax into it, looping my arms around my torso I turn to him. I've watched plenty of movies to know this is the moment the girl gets kissed (and that was _not_ going to happen), or she has some kind of grand exit. The kind that leaves the guy hanging, and wanting more but without making her seem too eager. I could do that, _right_?

"_The wolf_." I say. For the first time it's me that breaks the silence. Paul's eyes meet mine and his brows predictably furrow in confusion.

"Huh?"

"You asked me what I dreamt about last," I clarify turning to my front door, I twist the handle and shoot a glance over my shoulder, "well, the last thing I dreamt about was the wolf." _Boom. Grand exit nailed._

"Wait," Paul calls, and despite myself I turn back to him. _Curses_. His face is unreadable but his lips are twisted into a small smile, "can I call you?"

I hold up my dead phone and flash him a smug smirk, "Demon box, remember?" I don't give him a chance to ruin my exit again. I pull open the door and slip inside. I slump against the cool wood, and all the while my heart beats rapidly sending wave after wave of heat up my arms.

"_Oh my god._" I breathe under my breath. Paul Lahote walked me home. _Big, scary, I-have-seventeen-girlfriends _Paul Lahote. I try not to read too far into it, but before I even reach my room my brain is running a mile a minute.

I glance out the window and fixate on the stars, maybe the universe knew what it was doing.


	8. an infinite spotlight

**A/N:** **Today we are going to be in Paul's perspective (for like 5 minutes) let me know if you think that's awful and I should just stick to one perspective!'**

**an infinite spotlight**

"_I shall eat your heart."_

Christa Wolf

It was currently seven in the morning and I was trudging through the empty hallways of La Push high school searching for Claire and Kim. I wouldn't have dreamed of being this early to school, but, I had woken up to a loud screaming 911 text from Claire. She had made it painstakingly clear that it was very important to meet at her locker before school.

I rub the sleep from my eyes while stifling a yawn. It wasn't that I'd stayed out incredibly late last night. I had actually left the bonfire fairy early, but, after my encounter with Paul I couldn't go to sleep. It was like my body had been sent into hyper speed and was incapable of shutting down.

I would relax enough to lie down and my lids would grow heavy, but, always, I'd see those dark eyes and hear the awful howling of the wolf from my fantasies. My fingers had burned severely and not even drawing could cool the fire pooling in the pads of my fingertips. It was an intensity unlike anything I had felt before.

As a result I got very little in the way of sleep. I grip the strap of my bag tighter ignoring the pounding of my head. Each step across the cold linoleum floor echoes in the empty halls and subsequently makes the steady throbbing in my skull worse.

I turn down what I hope is the correct hallway; I had been a student here for almost a week now. The building was still new and intimidating albeit smaller than my old school. The dark blue lockers pressed against the walls come into view and I let out an audible sigh of relief. I didn't want to end up in the fourth grade's wing again. They were ruthless.

I felt a small smile tug at the corners of my lips as I spot Kim's dark head bent low. She was leaning against Claire's locker scribbling away in a notebook. Her writing stills momentarily as she hastily taps her pencil to the side of the notebook.

I clear my throat, disrupting the silence and her head shoots up at the noise. When Kim sees me her face morphs into an easy going smile. She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose and I find comfort in such a small act of normalcy.

"Maggie," She calls cheerfully, while snapping her notebook shut and tucking her pencil into the ring's that made up the spine, "I'm so sorry I didn't get to say goodbye last night. I feel awful."

"It's okay," I wave her concern away. While my night hadn't been as amazing as was promised I held no animosity towards Kim, or Claire. It had been interesting. I think of Paul's face bathed in shadow and moonlight and my stomach flips nauseatingly. _Not bad._

True to my word, I had texted both of the girls to let them know what happened when I had gathered my thoughts up enough to write something coherent. Claire had confirmed my story, and told Kim she saw me run into the woods with Paul Lahote and insinuated a plethora of unspeakable things. Which was just _embarrassing_. "You were preoccupied with Jared," I wiggle my eyebrows and Kim ducks her head bashfully.

"Oh my god, you're just as bad as Claire." Kim chides not unkindly and tucks her notebook into one of the pockets on the side of her bag. "Speaking of Claire, where is that girl? She called a seven am meeting and she's not even here yet."

I bob my head along with her words; I scan the near empty hallways. Slowly students were beginning to filter into the building in preparation for the school day. "Oh, there she is." Kim whispers, and I whip my head in her direction. Bouncing towards us with an unapologetic smile and a bag of sour patch kids, is none other than Claire herself. Her short hair was a humongous mass of curls that leapt in tandem with every step as she made her way towards us.

Before Claire even reaches her locker, Kim's already propelling herself forward, no doubt with an abundance of questions, "We got your text Claire."

"Yeah, what's the emergency?" I ask readjusting the strap of my bag.

"Oh, hey Maggie Bowen, Kimchee. I'm glad you responded so promptly," Claire sing-songs. My shoulders sag at this; if there truly was an emergency it seemed it wasn't the bad kind. As if also realizing this Kim lets out a little huff. Claire cracks her knuckles before speaking, "So, I started layering my Chapstick yesterday, _magic_."

Claire brings the tips of her fingers to her lips and then kisses them emphatically before saying the word magic. A silence settles around us, one pressing question looming. Kim purses her lips firmly into a thin annoyed line.

"Was that really your emergency? You've been layering your chapstick?" I deadpan watching the light in Claire's eyes slowly dim. My heart thuds at that but I did not come to school an hour early to be told the many uses of chapsticks.

"Yeah! What the heck Claire? You texted 911! You don't text 911 unless it's an _emergency_!" Kim chastises while pushing her large glasses up the brim of her nose and sniffing a little.

Claire let's out a nervous chuckle before pulling the sleeves of her sweater down over her hands, "Don't blow a blood vessel Kimney, I was getting to the juicy bit. I just thought I'd do a little pre-game, to get you guys warmed up." Claire claps her hands together and forces out a laugh. When Kim's only response is a cocked hip and a raised eyebrow Claire gulps.

"Oh my god! Just tell us," Kim bristles and Claire recoils a little, she rubs her elbow before letting out another nervous chuckle. I have never seen Claire like this, _you've known her for like three days, calm down, crazy _a voice reminds me.

"So," Claire draws out the word, and Kim's frown deepens, "I've got a boyfriend." Claire's cheek's puff up and she blows the words out in one steady stream of air. It's a little hard to understand but neither of us miss the word boyfriend. Kim and I exchange glances.

"What?" We cry in unison and Claire rubs the back of her neck bashfully.

"See, this is why it had to be in person, so Maggie could catch poor Kimmy when she faints." Claire giggles and gestures to a very surprised looking Kim. To be fair she really did look like she could faint. Her smooth face was schooled into one of shock, her jaw hung open and her eyebrows creased together unanimously.

"Oh my god. Like an actual human male?" Kim cries fixating her large doe eyes on Claire.

"Yes, a human male!" Claire retorts and for her part sounding mildly offended at Kim's insinuation.

"Who is it?" I wonder aloud and Claire turns to me, her smile takes up the entirety of her face as she steps closer. Normal Claire was back. Or normal to me Claire was back.

"Guess!" She breathes, inching forever forward on the tips of her toes. The excitement in the air was now palpable, even Kim who was still a little annoyed was anxiously leaning forward.

"Claire!" Kim chides and Claire's only response is a playful roll of her eyes.

"You're no fun," She pouts and with another withering look from Kim she throws her hands up in surrender, "Fine, it's Quil Atera."

"Oh? One of Jared's friends?" Kim whispers mostly to herself.

"Yeah, cool huh?" Claire grins smugly while crossing her arms over her chest.

Kim touches her lips in surprise, eyes flicking back and forth, she looks up at Claire, "When did this happen? How? Why? I have so many questions."

"Well we met like officially at the bonfire last night," Claire offers conversely, when she notices the expectant look on our faces she continues, "I was eating some candy and you know, thinking. Like _actually thinking_. Which is insane and rare, but alas it's true. I was staring into the fire, you know, pretending I was the star of some indie young adult novel. The whole shebang. And then he just kinda plopped down next to me. I went to yell at the guy for ruining my moment, and then I looked at him."

Claire's voice fills the near empty halls, Kim and I latch onto ever word. I can tell this pleases Claire immensely, she pauses for a moment to take a breath before a soft easy smile travels across her face, "That's all it was. A look. Insane, right? Like I've seen the kid a million times before but it was like in that moment I was seeing him for the first time. And all I had to do was look _up_. We're all just floating around in our bodies living our lives; together but separate." She trails off quietly, self-consciously touching her cheek.

Her large dark eyes linger on us, searching, and embarrassed, "Which I know sounds totally ridiculous, and it definitely is, but, I don't even know how to describe it you guys. Like we all know there isn't a lot shaking around up here." Claire points to her temple with a self-deprecating chuckle. And my heart breaks at that.

"It was probably just the fire light or something. Really set the mood, yah know?" Claire shrugs finally, shaking her head slightly before popping a sour patch kid into her mouth.

"And?" Kim prompts eyes still as wide as saucers. She flails her hands impatiently.

Claire emits a pleasurable chuckle at that, before playing innocent, "And what Kimchee?"

"What happened next?" The words burst from my chest and Claire turns a surprised eye on me.

"Well, since you asked oh so nicely," Claire simpers sarcastically before continuing, "I offered him some twizzlers and he did the dumbest thing," Claire erupts into a fit of giggles as she recalls last night's events. Kim and I share a look.

With a few false starts Claire finally lets out a shaky breath and is able to speak again, "He stuck them up his nose," and ever full of surprises, Claire snorted, _like actually snorted_, "normally I wouldn't tolerate such blatant disregard of such delicacies, but it was kind of cute."

Kim's face pinches into one of disgust and I figure mine must mirror her own because Claire hurrumphs at that, before pressing her free hand on her hip while blowing a strand of hair out of her face. "Then he introduced himself, and it was surprisingly smooth for someone who had two twizzlers stuck up his nostrils."

"Okay," Kim supplies.

"And now you're dating?" I ask.

"Well yeah, pretty much. I mean he doesn't know it yet, but if I start telling everyone then he'll have no choice but to accept it." Claire shrugs and my mouth falls open.

"Claire, I don't think that's how that works!" Kim cries, and Claire one again shrugs her shoulders as if it were the easiest thing in the entire world.

"Hey, Kimmy, I love yah but you're the last person I'd take love advice from." I watch as Kim's face morphs from one of shock to annoyance.

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?" She bristles, and Claire steps forward so she can smooth a hand down the top of Kim's head in an attempt to placate the shorter girl. It has the opposite effect however and Kim swat's Claire's hand away furiously. I bite back a chuckle.

"It means you and Jared have been like mutually crushing on each other for like the last four months and no one's made a move yet." Claire points out jabbing a finger into the air.

"We're taking things slow!"

"I understand that, but life is too short for slow. Feelings are fast and fleeting, especially the high school kind." At the horrified look on Kim's face, Claire amends, "which isn't to say Jareds feelings are fast or fleeting. I mean, that guy worships you, just typically speaking high school relationships have a short shelf life."

* * *

I smooth a nervous hand down the front of my blouse. Printed across my breast were the words _Twin Oaks. _I had my first shift? My first volunteer session? I had no idea what to call it. Peter had reassured me that it would be low key and there would be no reason to freak out but anxiety sat like lead in my stomach weighing me down.

I clutch the forms he'd given me last time I'd been here to my chest, I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. I was trying to build up enough courage to pull open the door. _One step, _my heart whispers.

I let out a breath of air before pushing the glass door open, a bell signals my arrival and my heart thuds painfully in my chest. Just as I'd remembered her, Lauren sat seated behind the desk in a pair of scrubs. Her hair was pulled neatly behind her in a half pony-tail. She greets me with a friendly smile and it makes me wonder if she'd noticed my deliberating. Heat rushes to my cheeks at the thought but I press onward anyways.

"Hi! I am here for my first shift," The words come out in a rush and I pin the papers down with the flat of my palm nervously. I don't have time to contemplate or wonder if I should have used the word shift. Everything inside of me wants to seize up and I pray the earth might for once take pity on me and swallow me whole.

But the floor stays intact beneath my feet and Lauren's eyes soften sympathetically.

"Of course," Lauren doesn't miss a beat; she gathers my papers in her hand easily and files them away with a grace I could only dream about. "My daughter Katie's here, I'll have her come up and show you around."

She punches a few numbers into the generic black phone and I press my hands nervously into my stomach. Mainly to just do _something_ with my hands. Butterflies erupted chaotically in my abdomen and I fight an oncoming wave of nausea.

I just needed to think. To relax.

There was really no point in working myself up, I spent almost every afternoon last year at the nursing home. I've done this before. This shouldn't be the hard part.

"She'll be down in just a minute, you can have a seat over there honey." Lauren turns back to me as she gestures across the table to the uncomfortable foam chairs I had sat in previously. With a subdued thank you, and shaky legs I eventually make my way to the seat. I plop down and furiously begin tapping my fingers against the itchy denim of my jeans. How familiar this felt. _This anxiety._

Lavender hangs heavy in the air, I kick the tip of my white shoe against the black metal frame of the chair. I find comfort in the simplicity of the movement. I can only handle watching my erratic ministrations for a moment, however. The shiny white reflection of the freshly polished wooden floors sends my head reeling.

"Maggie?" A small quiet voice interrupts my contemplation, I snap my head up. A small girl stood in front of me, she wore the same twin oaks polo I had on, except hers was neatly tuck into a pair of black trousers. She had long blonde hair that was twisted into an intricate braid that fell across her shoulder. Freckles dotted her rosy cheeks. She looked to be about the same age as me, maybe a little older.

"Katie?" I ask nervously before pushing myself upwards. I rub the sweaty palm of my hand across the rough denim irrationally before sticking it out. Her hand is cold in mine; she gives it a firm squeeze before quickly letting it drop to her side. Self-consciously I wonder if my hand had been as wet and repulsive as I presumed it might be.

"Yes," She bobs her head along jerkily, "follow me." She mutters while leading me through the foyer and past Lauren's desk who smiles encouragingly and sends two thumbs up my way. Just like that my panic eases; if only a small amount.

This was my first time past the front desk; so I soak up the scenery. Katie leads me into what I assume is some type of seating area. A large TV is mounted to the wall surrounded by various couches and potted houseplants. Expensive paintings cover the walls, along with several bookshelves. More for decoration than function, I presume. Faint barely there jazz music filters in through a speaker attached to the wall and it calms the erratic thumping of my heart.

"This is the rec room, for lounging and what have you. It's not usually occupied, as you can tell." Katie's robotic voice fills the silence, she gestures to the living room-esque area wildly betraying the lack of emotion in her words.

The wooded panels of the foyer floor switch abruptly to firm carpet. Kate's heavy steps dull considerably as she leads me down a long hallway lit by a substantial amount of wall lights. I blink rapidly until my eyes adjust to the opacity.

"These are the resident's rooms, you'll have to clean a few beds, food trays and what have you. They might put up some fuss but you just have to do it anyways." Kate explains quickly, each wooden door is shut tightly so there isn't really much to look at. I find myself staring at the back of her head.

She leads me down the hallways to a small alcove, shrouded in darkness. She flicks on a light, revealing a door that would have been easily overlooked otherwise. "This is the staff bathroom. The resident's all have their own bathroom's in their room, so no worries there." She switches the light off and steers me left.

At the end of the next hallway is a dimly lit room, a large and long wood table resides in the middle. A great big floral houseplant serves as the center piece. Huge sliding glass doors lead to the patio. From my vantage point I could see a few wheelchairs and graying heads celebrating the sun. A rare occurrence in Washington, I'm discovering.

"The cafeteria, we have dietary aids and what have you but you'll probably end up helping them anyways. The kitchen's over there, but you won't want to store any food in there. Janice, the cook, considers it free real estate. My mom has a mini fridge behind her desk." Kate lists off diplomatically.

She turns around and considers me for a moment, "I'm sure you're bound to have questions. I'm here every Wednesday and on the weekends. So you can ask me anything then or talk to one of the other volunteers if I'm not here." I can tell Kate is serious about her role here; I nod along to her words to make sure she knows I am paying attention. I want her to know I am serious too.

"Great, next time you come we'll actually put you to work." Kate deadpans and if her lips hadn't quirked up at the edge as she spoke I would have had no idea she was joking. I laugh uneasily. A silence descends over us as she leads me back to the front desk.

My stomach rolls nervously when I see Lauren's chair is empty, I had hoped she'd be here to diffuse the tension. It wasn't that Kate was mean, or cold in anyway. She just had a matter o' fact way of speaking that left no room for question. It was robotic almost. It made me uncomfortable.

Kate turns her dark blue eyes on me and sticks out a stiff palm, "I look forward to working with you." I take her hand in mine.

"Me too!" I squeak out maybe a little more enthusiastically than was strictly necessary. Lauren dips her head in acknowledgement and sends me one of her small smiles.

"I trust you can see yourself out." With that she turns on her heels leaving me alone in the foyer.

* * *

I trudge up the wooden steps leading to the house I was slowly beginning to regard as my home. I was surprised to see my mother's car parked in the driveway; I kind of figured she'd be working late again tonight. The porch light was flicked on and a swarm of bugs circled it relentlessly. My heart beats furiously at that, and my cheeks warm thinking about Wednesday night.

_God, _I was pathetic.

I rattle the chipped golden door knob and press against the dark wood of the door. At the unexpected resistance I let out a frustrated groan before digging through my bag to find my keys. I was not very fond of my mother's habit of locking the door even when she was home. I don't have to spend much time searching, however, because the door is thrown open in one fell swoop. It sends me staggering backwards.

I take in the sight of my mother, and her large eager eyes as the looks me up and down. I'm surprised at the tense excitement pulling her shoulders upwards as she exclaims, "A boy stopped by for you!"

If it were physically possible I swear my heart would have stopped beating, "A boy? What boy?" I push onward and my mother steps aside to let me in the house. I kick off my shoes and drop my bag next to them. I refuse to meet my mother's enthusiastic gaze. I don't want her to see how embarrassed I am. If you gave that lady an inch she would take a mile.

"Paul something or another." She chirps from behind me, I pull my sweatshirt over my head revealing my wrinkled twin oaks polo. I drop the sweatshirt on the couch and make a bee-line for the kitchen while ignoring my mother's pestering.

I pull open the fridge and rummage through the glass box at the bottom half-heartedly, truly food is the last thing on my mind. "Paul Lahote?" I try to make my voice boring and uninterested. But I am not a very good liar and saying his name alone sends me spiraling. I grab an apple from the box and slam it shut forcefully. It sticks otherwise.

"Yeah he was quite charming." My mother sing-songs from behind me, I shut the fridge and lean against the silver metal. I can see the insinuation in her gaze as she wiggles her eyebrow emphatically.

"What did he want?" I ask. I try to make my voice sound light and only mildly curious. She didn't need to know the awful things he did to my heart.

"To ask you to dinner." My mother smirks and her eyes search me knowingly for any sign of interest. I had to be very careful. I take a bite of my apple and force myself to chew. It tastes like nothing in my mouth.

I pretend to contemplate this for a moment before settling on, "And what did you tell him?"

"I told him you were at that old nursing home." I almost choke on mushy apple; I swallow hard before slamming the partially eaten fruit on the granite counter. I fix a pair of furious eyes on her and she has the audacity to laugh.

"Mom!" I whine, and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. She leans against the counter opposite of me and while our kitchen was fairly spacious in this moment it felt incredibly small.

My heart took off as an abundance of questions swirl frantically in my mind. What did it mean when a boy came to your house? Was it weird? Was this some kind of prank? Was he trying to atone for something? What could Paul Lahote honestly want with someone like me? Could a person suffocate from all of this uncertainty?

At having got her desired reaction my mother turns away while shrugging playfully, "What? He was _cute_."

* * *

**Paul**

"Maggie!" Even I can hear how stupid and lovesick my voice sounds, _disgusting. _I sat atop one of the plastic lunch tables my feet looming over the edge and resting on a navy blue chair.

"Uh, hi?" She turns her dark eyes on me; will raising an eyebrow skeptically like she can't believe I am actually talking to her. She readjusts her backpack across her shoulder and even I can see how badly she wants to get away. But her feet stay firmly planted to the linoleum floor and her eyes burn challengingly. _God_, it feels good to just be looked at. _I love you_, my heart beats ruthlessly against my chest over and over again. I think of its ugly drumming, and how it feels like it might claw its way through blood and bone trying to get to her.

"Come out with me tonight?" I flail my arms open jokingly, and make my voice light. I flash her teeth, and wait. Girls usually simper at this, their shoulders sag and their cheeks burn. But not Maggie. Of course, the one girl I _can_'t charm is my fucking imprint.

"No." She deadpans easily and I burry the pang of defeat down, down, down. This wasn't her first time rejecting me anyways. It had been when I walked her home from the bonfire Wednesday. It's easier to hide the disappointment now, but god damn if it didn't still _hurt. _

"Tomorrow?" I ask hopefully and internally I am imaging all of the ways I can set myself on fire. I sound like fucking Seth.

"Busy," She shrugs and her dark hair falls over her shoulder. I want to lean forward and tuck the hair away, I want to see the entirety of her face. I want my hand to linger and for the ghost of my touch to leave goosebumps along her skin. I want her to fucking want me the way I want her. I want her to say _yes. _

But she flicks a hand up to her face and tucks the strand behind her ear all by herself. There's no lingering, or staring, or hesitant wanting. There's just me pining after her like a dumbass.

"Tomorrow's tomorrow?" _ Paul. Shut the hell up. _ Something inside of me screams, god when did I get so desperate? This wasn't even the worst of it. I went to her god damn house yesterday. I hadn't meant to end up there, I was wondering and wallowing like fucking Jacob and I had just ended up there. It was like no matter what direction I steered myself in I always wound my way back to that stupid fucking dead end.

I figured I could stand outside her house like a creep, or I could knock on her door and do it right. She wasn't even home. Hell if I didn't take that as some kind of cosmic sign from the gods. What did I expect? Some blissful fucking high school romance? Holding hands innocently like Jared and Kim? Sharing some twisted domestic life together like Sam and Emily?

_No_, I know it's never going to be like that. My imprint doesn't even like to look at me. _God_, wasn't this supposed to be easy? Wasn't she supposed to feel something from our weird ass wolf bond?

I watch Maggie cautiously, something uncertain flickers in her eyes and I hold my breath. I beg her to look at me, to see the secret longing in my eyes. Say _yes, _say _yes, _say _yes. _Do I need to get on my knees? I would. I think about dropping to the ground and enveloping her hand in mine. If only to touch her. "Still busy," she decides finally.

"That's the 3rd time you've asked her out in like the last two days, give it up bro." Jared erupts from beside me and I fight the urge to slam my fist into his gut. But I can't, because the guys didn't know I imprinted. Which I honestly thought would be harder to hide considering Jared and Quil had acted like fucking morons when they imprinted. God, if I had heard one more stupid ass thing about how their imprint had the prettiest eyes I thought I would be sick. Everyone has eyes, hell, Maggie has eyes. And yeah they're fucking beautiful, but _they're mine._

I study Jared for a moment, and something in the way he tilts his head back, and his eyes wrinkle at the corners makes me falter. I understood the appeal of sharing the fact that you imprinted with the pack, I mean, I wanted to punch Jared in the fucking nose but I still wanted him to know. After all, I love him, he's my _brother_. They all were, but god damn, I just want one thing I don't have to share with them, one thing that's _mine._

I notice Maggie's retreating figure and all I can think about is how _wrong _it is_. _Each step she takes further away from me is another pennny in the _my-life-fucking-sucks_ fountain. And like the stupid ass moron I am, I call after her, "Aw, don't be shy Maggie, I know you love me,"

"Uh huh," she doesn't even turn around to look at me, a smooth tanned hand is waved in my general vicinity and then _gone_. I let out a grunt and run my hand through my hair. I fight the urge to kick the table or slam my fist into the cinderblock wall. Why does this have to be so hard?

"Smooth lover boy," Jared howls from beside me, and I think for a moment he might _know_, but he throws his head back and repeatedly hits his flat palm against the plastic table like my struggling is the funniest fucking thing in the world. If he knew the truth he wouldn't be laughing.

"Shut up," I grumble and stab my fork into the mess of noodles in front of me. I twist it, _hard_. Ignoring the ridiculous peel of laughter from beside me I grumble furiously under my breath.

"I feel like this is kinda harassment," Embry chimes, and _god, _I want to knock his fucking teeth in for implying that I would ever hurt her. But I have to remind myself Embry doesn't know I imprinted. To him she's just another girl I am chasing after. If this is the price I have to pay for keeping her all to myself then _fine. _I'd pay it in blood and bone. I'd pay it again and again.

"It's not," I snap and shove a forkful of mystery meat into my mouth, it's fucking nasty, but it's food, "it's called persistence. I mean she can't be busy for the rest of her life." I grumble. It's hard to sound intimidating when choking down school noodles and so the tension dissipates. Embry lets out a forced chuckle and his shoulders drop.

"Yeah, he's right. Chicks love to play hard to get," Seth proclaims from my right, pointing a thumb into his chest. Collectively we all turn and fix a skeptical eye on the shrimp of a boy.

Quil lets out a bark of a laugh and asks what we're all thinking, "And what could you possibly know about _chicks_ Seth Clearwater?"

Seth blinks rapidly before giving a non-commital shrug of his shoulders, "I don't know, it worked well enough in the notebook, minus the fact that they both died in the end."

Before I could remark on the sheer stupidity of his statement Jared leans forward, and interjects, "Yeah but that's not really relevant because their deaths were because of old age."

I shrug and continue my assault on our school's pasta, if Jared and Seth wanted to watch sissy ass girly movies in their spare time, _fine._ But be prepared to be fucking teased. Quil and Embry's jaws drop as they watch the two boys in absolute horror.

"What?" Jared and Seth ask in unison.

"Isn't the notebook a movie for chicks?" Embry asks, while scrunching his nose up at the word chicks. He flicks a few strands of hair from his eyes and I roll my eyes at this before forcing another forkful of pasta down. _Yes, __Embry_, _yes it the fuck is._

"Yeah, what the hell are you doing watching the notebook?" Quil chimes from beside him.

"Leah won a bet, leave me alone," Seth pouts, while crossing his arms over his chest. He juts his bottom lip out in that stupid fucking puppy dog manner of his. I don't even think it's on purpose, anymore. I feel a certain fondness for Seth, I don't feel for any of the other boys. He's the youngest of us and has to deal with a bunch of extra crap because of it.

"Just a word of warning boys," Jared says once again leaning forward while cracking his knuckles, "if your imrpint wants to watch the notebook, you're going to watch the notebook." His words were more directed at Quil who had only recently shared the joys of imprinting with the pack via wolf telepathy. Seth had affectionately dubbed it the group chat but I had told him it sounded fucking dumb, and refused to call it that. Of course, he pointed out that it was better than calling it the mind link or whatever. And well, he was probably right.

Anyways, unfortunately for Quil he imprinted on the most annoying fucking girl in this school. She acted like a four year old most of the time. But then again I suppose she was perfect for Quil in that regard. And while I knew Jared's words weren't meant for me I still find them settling across my shoulders and weighing me down all the same.

**Paul, please don't be such a drama queen. Okay, so basically I've never written from Paul's perspective so I wung it by adding a cuss word like every other sentence. Ewie, I know. Sorry if the tenses keep changing, I'm working on it but it's a never ending battle. Anywhozza, sorry this took seven years I did actually everything but write this chapter. So, if it's garbage that's probably why. Lemme know what you thought, and if I should keep writing in Paul's perspective. Or just lemme know if you hate it. **Thanks for reading!


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